False Starts Harry Potter
by Diresquirrel
Summary: A series of disjointed story ideas that never went anywhere. They're all HP of sorts, with different twists and ideas that ran out before they became full fledged stories.
1. The Incredible Harry

**You wouldn't like when I'm angry, Professor Snape**

* * *

Bruce Banner was in Surrey. England, that is. However, as was often the case, he had a rather large gap in his memory after he got... angry. It wasn't really a blank, so much as period of feelings, memories and emotions that were so jumbled, that they made little sense. Very similar to that first spring break in college, actually, but with less personal control. The last thing he remembered was kissing Betty Ross, and then her father, the Thunderbolt himself, burst in. And then, he got... _angry_.

How he got from Nevada to Surrey, he didn't know, and that was probably a good thing. However, he now found himself wearing an oversized pair of purple pants and holding a bleeding boy in his arms.

"Awe, geeze, kid!" he muttered as he frantically patched the kid up, using bits of his torn trousers as bandages. The kid had still lost way too much blood, though, so he started towards civilization. The first person he found was an old woman with a bunch of cats. Rushing up to her, he realized he must be a sight, with the bruises all over his body, his torn clothing and the boy's blood over the both of them.

"Ma'am! Please, he's bleeding," Bruce pleaded. "Call the medics, the ambulance-someone. He needs help badly."

"Oh my stars and garters!" She gasped. "That's little Harry Potter! Come in, come in!"

What happened next was something out of a poorly written fantasy novel. But it didn't matter 'til much later, because the memories were erased from poor Bruce's muggle mind. Someone had come out of a fireplace in green flames and waved a stick over the boy.

"He needs a blood replenishing potion, but some idiot undersecretary of Fudge's decided it was an unneeded expense and only gave us five for the month," the healer said angrily. "I don't have time to brew one."

Bruce couldn't believe he was going to suggest this. Especially after what happened to his cousin. But still... it was the only solution he could see. He raised his hand.

"Uh, I'm a universal donor," he said quietly.

"What?"

"A blood transfusion: a little of mine, given to him," Bruce Banner explained.

"How barbaric!"

"It's been used successfully for decades, lady," Bruce growled. "Now do you want him to live or not?"

It was quickly decided that the Healer didn't want to be known as the one who let the Boy-Who-Lived die, so he did as suggested.

* * *

Five Years Later:

"Boy! Get the mail!"

Harry Potter, the poor nephew at 4 Privet Drive, dutifully picked up the day's mail. Oddly enough, there was a letter, written on parchment of all things, addressed to him, in his bedroom.

"Oi! The freak's got mail!" the small whale who was reputedly his cousin said, plucking it out of his hands.

Harry went stock still.

He held out his hand, palm up with a snap of motion.

"My letter, please," Harry said firmly, but calmly. Like when a bird of prey flies over a hen-yard, the Dursley family froze instantly at his tone.

Dudley, the previously mentioned small whale, glanced at his parents for confirmation. Petunia looked at her nephew's expression and nodded. Vernon turned a sickly shade of white at the expression Harry Potter wore.

"Yes, Duddikins, give the boy his letter," Vernon said.

With a look of fear, Dudley placed the letter in Harry's hand. As soon as he opened it, Petunia Dursley glanced over his shoulder and put a hand to her heart with a sigh of relief.

"Oh, congratulations, boy," she said with a smile so wide it looked like it was going to wrap around her head. "Vernon, isn't it great? He'll be going to a boarding school hundreds of miles away."

Vernon nodded like a bobble head on the dashboard of a '74 Chevy Custom Deluxe on a road made of 90% potholes.

"I will?" Harry asked.

"Don't you want to go to the school your parents attended? I think it would be a great opportunity for you," she said in a voice so sweet, it had to be artificial.

"Oh, I suppose," Harry said.

"That's wonderful, boy," she said. "Why, I think today's a great day for you to go to London and get your things. Then you can stay and learn all about the culture until you have to go to school, don't you agree Vernon? "

Vernon repeated his bobble head action.

* * *

Weeks later, Harry arrived at Station 9 ¾ with a redheaded clan. Once inside, Harry and a boy named Ron chatted and made friends and a bushy haired girl named Hermione came in as well. She was a little bossy, but Harry liked her well enough. Then the loudmouth blond and his goons burst in and almost started a fight with Ron.

"Ron, stop," Harry said. "He's just trying to get you riled up."

"I'm not going to let him get away with talking about my family like that!" the redheaded boy said.

"Don't sink to his level," Harry said calmly. "I already know you're better than him."

"Why you-" Malfoy snarled before Harry cut him off.

"And you're just getting upset because you don't get your way," Harry summed up astutely. "There's no need to be such a jerk. So, please, just go away."

Malfoy stormed out of the cabin with his goons following closely.

"Wow," Ron said. "You really put him in his place!"

"See?" Harry said. "I told you there wasn't any need to get angry."

"You proved to be the better man," Hermione said with an approving smile. In some ways, she felt like she was looking at an equal.

* * *

"I can't believe you let Snape talk to you like that!" Ron demanded, days later as they exited their Potions class.

"He's just a bully," Harry said with an unconcerned shrug. The first year was quickly getting a reputation as the straight man, with an unbreakable mask. He was almost impossible to get angry and, believe you me, the Twins had tried. "There's no need to get upset with someone who's so petty. It just means they hate themselves."

"I dunno, mate, he seems to keep the hate on you," Ron pointed out.

"If he keeps it up, I'll talk with him."

* * *

Halloween

"Troll in the dungeon," Quirrell said. "Thought you'd like to know," he noted before collapsing to the floor of the Great Hall.

Soon after, Harry realized that Ron's idiotic comments had sent his other housemate crying from the Charms room and she hadn't been back. After some quick investigation, Harry discovered she'd been in the loo all day, bawling her eyes out.

However, instead of finding her alone, and the quick rescue he anticipated, Harry found a troll doing its level best to make Hermione-Paste.

That made him a little angry.

* * *

Hermione ducked another blow of the club and scampered to the side to avoid the next blow. This particular blow never came. Instead, she looked up to see the troll cowering in fear at the hulking green shape wearing spectacles and purple pants in the doorway. On his forehead was a distinctive lightning bolt scar.

"Stupid troll make Harry mad," the green person said loudly, clenching his fists. "Harry smash puny troll!"

What Hermione witnessed was a horrific sight, not suitable for children of any age due to the pure savagery involved, but needless to say, the troll was no longer a problem. Then, as if to punctuate its statement, the Harry creature bashed the creature's head in the with club for a final blow.

Everything was rather still after that until Harry shrunk and passed out.

* * *

Three days later:

"Professor! Professor Snape?" Harry called out politely.

The professor in question sighed and turned around.

"What is it, Potter?"

It was amazing how the man could make Harry's last name seem like the greatest insult in the world.

"It's just..." Harry paused a moment as he sought the right words.

"Well, spit it out!"

"Sir, it's your attitude," Harry said bluntly.

"My _what?_" the greasy haired professor snarled.

"Your attitude sir; you're trying to make me angry," Harry explained. "I don't know why, but you are. And what's worse, I haven't even done anything to make you hate me. It just doesn't make sense."

"What is the point, Potter?"

"Well, sir, you're trying to make me angry," Harry repeated.

"And the point is?"

"It's working sir," Harry said, "but you wouldn't like me when I'm angry."

* * *

The rest of the year passed with little incident until a small altercation with Professor Quirrell and his buddy Tom. The events passed much as one would expect, with Harry, Hermione and Ron making their way through a maze of troubles and tasks until there was only Harry left up against Quirrell alone.

The two exchanged the usual pre-fight banter, but it wasn't until Quirrell's close personal friend, Tom showed up that things got heated. There were comments made that couldn't be unsaid. Tom quickly learned that while he might have been one of the darkest wizards in history, Harry Is Strongest One There Is.

When Tom decide that fleeing was a good choice, Harry felt his anger leave him with a broken professor's body that quickly turned to dust. Harry felt an odd object in his pocket, glanced at the Philosopher's Stone, shrugged and walked back to where Hermione was waiting.

Dumbledore assumed the stone was destroyed in the attack that shattered the mirror, but Harry managed to get the stone back to its proper owners who decided that a certain Dr. Strange might be a better defender of the stone. Rumor had it, that they used the elixir of life to de-age themselves and had joined the New York swinger scene.

The next year was similarly uneventful, save for an incident with a large snake. The diary version of Tom Riddle had the unique experienced of being bludgeoned by his own basilisk by a green behemoth. After one attempt at killing the green wall of muscle with her venom (which, needless to say, failed spectacularly and only made the individual a bit more angry), the basilisk was quite willing to do whatever Harry requested from that point on. A little nibble and the Diary of Tom Riddle was a magicless husk. The large snake would later discover the force of will to throw off any compulsion Voldemort could place on it, as there was someone more scary and powerful than any Dark Lord.

From its perch high in the Chamber of Secrets, Fawks let out a trill that could only be translated as: "_Dah-yaaaaaamn _kid!"

Neither Hermione nor Ginny said anything about what they witnessed. In fact, Ginny had rationalized the green creature as something totally different and the adults had assumed it was a hallucination involved in her possession by Tommy.

Hermione, on the other hand, was a muggleborn. She had recognized the special tinge of green Harry's skin had acquired. It wasn't grass green. It wasn't military green. It wasn't Slytherin green. It wasn't even killing curse green. No, it was Hulk Green. Realizing that the American military would have been all over her friend if she spilled the beans, kept his secret, even from him.

* * *

Third year was different.

It's a common misconception that Anger is the only emotion that can promote the change. In certain cases, other strong emotions can have a similar effect. One of those is debilitating fear.

While most humans have a weakened fight/flight instinct, those with a bit of gamma poisoning have a slightly different reaction. If anything, they're fight/flight instinct is heightened and must be suppressed by force of will.

When the Dementors came onto the train at the start of third year, Harry's inner self reacted negatively to the stimuli applied by the dementors' auras. Harry had enough time to claim he was headed to the loo before the change came over him.

The change is a slightly unique experience for every Hulk. Bruce Banner feels the world and his control slip away and things get muddled. His attention focuses on threats and the elimination of said threats. For Jennifer Walters, she feels more relaxed and her inhibitions tend to take a back seat, even if she is still mostly in control of She-Hulk. The differences are enough that both Jenn and She-Hulk frequently refer to each other as different people. For Emil Blonsky, the change into the Abomination was all about an embracing of power. Harry was slightly different as well, having more power in a smaller body than any of his gamma radiated predecessors. Logic would suggest that magic and science are antithetical, but that is far from the truth. In fact, they blend well together. Some would say that Magic is just another form of energy.

When Harry becomes the Hulk, or Angry Harry, as he refers to his other form, he taps into that magical power and expands exponentially, but unlike the other Hulks, Harry only responds to opponents with equal power. Still, Angry Harry does the things that the real Harry would only keep to himself. Angry Harry is Id personified.

Dementors are supposed to be fear personified.

So when Harry rushed into the hallway when the trains stopped, he came almost face to face with the hooded creatures. His darkest memories came to the forefront. The first time he transformed. His treatment by his family before then. And then a woman's voice with a flash of green light.

Remus Lupin jumped up from his seat and sent out his patronus only to find the dementor's already fleeing. The train shook with the heavy pounding of footsteps. The new professor was just able to step back into the cabin as a green giant that looked anything but jolly grabbed a dementor and promptly smashed it with a bare fist.

That shouldn't be possible.

Then it grabbed another and crushed its skull in one hand. The dementor flopped to the ground. The green creature seemed to know where the next one was and continued on. Remus gaped as the dementor population saw its first sharp decrease in recent history.

When the train was cleared, the hulking creature ripped open the roof and started taking care of the others.

Remus had seen monsters in his life, many times in fact. He was his own greatest fear. But there was something about the creature's voice that sent shivers down his spine.

It wasn't a yell or a bellow, more like a growl that echoed out from its chest. Remus was too far away to make out all the words, but it seemed to be calling out a challenge. "Puny floaters? Wait, that can't be right," Remus muttered to himself.

When the last feeling of dread and depression fled, a small boy fell back into the hole the creature made.

"Harry?" Remus whispered. The boy was unconscious, but seemed otherwise unharmed. The werewolf professor put a small sliver of chocolate in the boy's mouth just in case. "Where did he get purple trousers?"

Hermione Granger was beside them with a new set of robes almost before he was done. The third year looked at her new professor with a glare worthy of any headmistress. "Not a word," she said, acting as if she was the professor and he was the student. "He doesn't know we know, and we're the only ones who do. Not-a-word."

Remus Lupin had the sneaking suspicion that the bushy-haired girl would do everything in her power to kick his ass if he did let anything slip. Having learned his lesson back when he was a student in Hogwarts, he wisely kept his mouth shut.

* * *

In his 4th year, Harry did the Tri-Wizard as was expected of him. However, at the last second, he grasped the Cup from the pedestal and was transported away.

Dark shadows clung to Little Hangleton as Voldemort's little minion stunned Harry. The boy woke up a little while later and was told the full story of what was going on: they planned to resurrect the guy who killed his parents.

That made him a little angry.

* * *

Possible ways to continue:

Harry goes back and completes Hogwarts

Harry kicks some ministry ass when Fudge sends Hagrid to Azkaban.

Harry practices meditation to keep away "angry Harry"

Dumbledore decides it was the power that Tommy knows not.

HARRY SMASH STUPID SNAKE BOY! STUPID SNAKE BOY MAKE HARRY MAD!

* * *

Year Three and the encounter with the Dementors, however, would definitely be different from cannon, and Year Four and the First Task of the Tournament would most certainly go in a completely different direction. ;-) He could probably get away with smacking the dragon around to get his egg, at least as far as the Ministry is concerned, since Harry could quite believably claim that his alter ego was a variant of his animagus form. Hermione, however, would definitely give him hell for picking on the poor benighted creature. ;-)

And what sort of body would Tom get from using the 'blood of the enemy' used to create his new body? He's already got an impulse control problem, as it is. ;-)

I don't own Hulk or Harry Potter, Marvel and JKR do. Thanks GreyWizard for your help with this one.


	2. The Trouble with Squibs NCIS

**The Trouble with Squibs**

* * *

"And so then I said-" Tony said as he was cut off by the boss man's gruff command.

"DiNozzo! McGee! Get David and get in the car," Gibbs' snapped. "We've got a dead sailor over at Dullis."

"But-" Tony said with a face like he just swallowed a sour apple. McGee slapped him on the shoulder with a grin.

"Don't worry Tony," he said as he followed after their team leader. "I'm sure you'll tell us your delusions of grandeur later."

"Damnit Proby!"

* * *

"What've we got?" Gibbs asked as he watched his ME bend over the Lt. She was blonde, the kind of blonde hair that actresses could only dream of being natural. Skin so pale as to seem almost sickly, the Lt. was thin, but athletic, yet could have been a supermodel if she wanted to.

"Lt. Sarah Malfoy-Whethers, age twenty-five," Ziva said, reading the information off her phone. "Successful career in Intelligence, but was attempting to find her family from England. Ends up she was abandoned as an eleven year old child and was adopted by an American expat couple. Renounced her British citizenship at age eighteen and joined the Navy through ROTC. No birth certificate, but official naturalization and immigration papers for the time period."

"No apparent signs of impact or cause of death, although she does show some signs of extreme stress in her limbs, as well as a few bruises here and there. Seems she was beaten a few days ago, quite severely in fact," Ducky revealed quite sadly. "Jethro, I haven't seen anything like this since I was working for the Yard back in the 1970s. We had this one particular case where a young man was quite frantic, claiming that his dead mouse was really his wife. As for poor Lt. Malfoy, I'm afraid that any other information she might like to give us will be better passed on in my laboratory."

"Thanks Ducky," Gibbs said. "DiNozzo? What have you got for me?"

"It was a fight, but I don't know what caused it," the junior investigator said. "We've got burn marks and deep gouges on the walls, but doesn't look like any guns were used. The wall here is cut right through. Looks like blood, boss."

"Then take a sample!" Gibbs commanded in his usual exasperated manner.

"Yes, Boss."

"Uh, Boss?" McGee asked, from across the room. He was looking into a supply closet that was supposed to be locked at all times when not in use, but Gibbs had rules about overlooking possibilities. "We've got another body."

"Ducky?"

"Oh quite alright. Mr. Palmer? Please take Lt. Malfoy-Whethers back to the van," the ageing ME instructed.

"Of course Doctor."

Ducky looked in the closet and sighed at the sight.

"Oh, dear," he said as he gazed down on the black cloaked figure, a white mask half shattered on his face. "I was afraid of this. Jethro? I'm afraid that we have a problem."

"A Problem, Ducky? Yeah, a dead sailor."

"Oh, it might be a bit worse than that, old friend," Ducky said grimly. "A sight bit worse in fact."

* * *

The evidence was taken, photos shot and bodies recovered. On the black robed corpse they found a small carved stick of some sort of significance. Otherwise, there was no identification beyond a ring with an odd family crest.

"McGee, what have you got for me?"

"Well, we watched her as she disembarked from her flight," the younger agent replied, pressing a button to bring the footage onto the flatscreen. They watched as she calmly waited behind a young couple with three rambunctious children on the long slow moving walkway. The intent for such a walkway was for people to move along faster, but people rarely did so, choosing to let it drag them along. "We watched this, but then started looking at these other shots." McGee flipped through several other shots, showing the lieutenant walking through the airport. McGee pointed to a young man several paces behind the young officer. "He's been in every shot, right up until they get into the fight.

"Fight McGee?"

"Well, we saw the start of it, but not the ending," the young agent replied. "Something knocked out security cameras in that area and it wasn't in a well traveled section of the terminal, so we don't have witnesses."

"I want to know who he is, and his partner," Gibbs commanded.

"Partner, Boss?"

Gibbs pointed to a young woman several paces in front of the Lieutenant. "Her. Brown hair, dark eyes. Athletic. I bet if you check the footage again she'll be watching the Lieutenant."

"On it Boss."

"Get Abby to help if you need her. Might be a British national due to the flight," Gibbs said as he grabbed his coffee and started out.

"I'll check Interpol," McGee said to his back.

* * *

"Got anything for me Ducky?"

"Ah, Jethro," the aging ME said with a smile. "I have been working on the young man, seeing as his damage was a little more obvious. His death was caused by a slice going from his left armpit up and across his neck. Death was quite quick and I suspect that most of the blood on the scene was his, or perhaps one other fellow's. There is a bit of spatter on the robes which suggests another person wounded in whatever battle caused this."

"Something strange Ducky?"

"Well, yes, conditions of the body are rather odd. They shouldn't be on a person his age," Ducky replied.

"Why's that?"

"He shows signs of small pox, abuse and poor dental hygene," Ducky answered. "If I didn't know better, I'd say these x-rays were of a Victorian man, not one of this day and age." He pointed to several of the x-rays put up. "If you look at the stresses and growth rates, you can see that shoes and others were not like ours. This man comes from an insular society who eschews many of our normal bits of clothing, like shoes with proper support. This man would have been in a great deal of pain in a few years."

"Something else?"

"Ah, yes, a photograph for Miss Abigail," Ducky said, handing over a file. Gibbs flipped it open to reveal photograph of an arm with a tattoo of a skull with a snake writhing in its mouth. "Something about that tickles the brain, but I cannot seem to remember where I've seen it before. I do believe that there might be others with a very similar tattoo."

"I'll look into it," Gibbs said before taking a sip of coffee. "And the Lieutenant?"

"Mr. Palmer and I were just about to start," Ducky said. "We just finished with the x-rays and were about to begin the cutting."

"I'll be back Ducky," Leroy Jethro said as he was about to leave.

"And do be careful," Ducky said calling after the agent. "That same part of my tickled brain tells me this is about to get more dangerous before it gets better."

Gibbs just nodded in thanks before he was in the elevator.

* * *

"Got the info on the tails," Tony said. "And you're going to love this, in a not loving way."

"Out with it DiNozzo," Gibbs said.

"Yes Boss," Tony said before flipping the flatscreen to a dossier. "Meet Sir Harry James Potter, age twenty-five."

"Sir? Knighted?"

"That's right, Boss," DiNozzo said. "For 'Great actions in defense of the Realm.' Awarded eight years ago."

"You're telling me this kid was knighted for wartime actions when he wasn't even eighteen?" Gibbs said.

"Exactly boss," Tony replied. "Orphan, parents murdered when he was about one and a half. Raised by his aunt and uncle in Little Winging outside Surrey. Went to the local school until he was ten at which point he falls off the radar for the most part. Aunt and uncle claimed he went to the St. Brutus School for Criminally Insane Boys."

Gibbs snorted derisively. "Criminally insane boys do not get knighted."

"Exactly what others thought in the papers when the boy was knighted," Tony replied. "Ends up everyone thought that the cousin, not Sir Harry, was the criminally insane boy. Dudley Dursley, also twenty-five, currently serving time for making meth across the street from a school."

"So what happened when he disappeared?" Gibbs asked.

"We don't know. Vanishes from the radar for seven years except for two incidents when the police were called to investigate some suspicious activity in the Dursley house. Ends up some new neighbors thought little Sir Harry was being abused, due to the yelling." Tony flipped the screen again. "Next he is knighted. No records for what he did to be knighted other than the reason stated. Vanishes again, only to appear in Australia. With no record of entering the country, Sir Harry gets into a firefight, and four people end up dead. Sir Harry is questioned by authorities and vanishes again. Canada, Venezuela, France, Bulgaria: Same thing. He shows up, people die, he vanishes again. Some of these only show up when his face is run through programs. Ends up some people he talks to never remember talking to him."

"Are you telling me we've got some kind of super assassin involved?"

"No, boss," Tony said. "I think we've got a regular James Bond."

Gibbs made a noise to emphasize his stiff disapproval before pointing to the woman in the photos. "Now who is she?"

"Hermione Granger," said a voice behind them in a poor imitation of a Hollywood American accent. "Age twenty-six. Brown hair, brown eyes, top of her class in school until she dropped off the face of the earth at age eleven. Shows up eight years later in Australia with no record of her arriving by any normal means. Does that estimate your findings?" she finished, returning to her natural British tongue.

The team turned to gawk at the woman, Hermione Granger herself, describing her own dossier. "By the stymied look on your faces, I shall assume I am correct."

"Well, aside from the fact that you're 'Dame' Hermione Granger for 'Great Deeds in Defense of the Realm' that about hides it," Ziva said.

"Covers it," Tony corrected.

"Whatever," she snapped back.

"Why are you here?" Gibbs demanded.

"Because I wanted to make sure of something," she said. "Call your ME and ask him to kindly refrain from cutting Miss Whethers."

"Why should I interrupt an autopsy for a murder suspect?" Gibbs snarled, taking a step into her personal space. To her credit, she didn't back away, but glared up into his eyes.

"Because, Mr. Testosterone," Dame Granger snarled back. "She isn't dead."

* * *

Ducky slowly moved over to the ringing phone as his assistant prepped the body for autopsy. Picking up the phone he smile. "Ah, Jethro, yes, we were just about to start..._what_?"

The ME looked over in horror as Jimmy Palmer touched the scalpel into the woman's flesh.

"MR. PALMER! STOP!"

* * *

"You'd better not be lying," Gibbs snarled, "or you'll never see-"

"Do not threaten me, Mr. Gibbs," Dame Granger smiled back. "You haven't the presence or the authority to do it. Isn't that right, Director?"

Gibbs' team looked around to where Vance looked down from the balcony. "Gibbs, Dame Granger, my office please?"

Granger just flashed Gibbs a dangerous smile and stepped quickly to the second floor. Gibbs growled as his team gaped at the audacity of the woman. Half way up the stairs, he turned back to glare at his subordinates. "Don't you have work to do?"

"Yes, Boss!" the three chorused as they scrambled back to their desks.

Dame Granger calmly walked up the stairs one at a time while Gibbs hurried himself along at his usual pace. He gave her a look of disbelief, but she never changed her pace.

"Taking your time?" the former marine asked shortly as she reached the top of the stairs.

"I am neither early nor late," she said with a smile that was as mysterious as it was sarcastic. "I arrive exactly when I mean to."

Gibbs stared at her for a moment and stormed into Vance's office.

"Water? Coffee?" Vance inquired. "I'd offer you tea, but I know you'd refuse."

"Yes, while I know how to find good tea in the states, it's never in a government building, no matter the nation," she replied. "Water, please."

"Now, what in hell do you mean she isn't dead?" Gibbs demanded.

"Unfortunately, that's classified," Granger replied. "Due to certain concerns we were forced to give her something to fake her death, rather than a simple escort like we intended."

"Who are you?" Gibbs demanded. "And why in hell are you escorting an American officer from England?"

Granger's lips perked up in a bemused smile and she shared a glance with Vance. He shrugged. She nodded and turned back to Gibbs. "I will tell you what I can. Miss Whethers arrived in London three weeks ago, on leave from the Navy, as you know. The purpose of her visit was to trace her birth parents."

"Malfoy?"

"Indeed, a family of rather ill repute," Granger commented. She took a sip of water. "You see, there is a certain group in Britain that is rather insular. They have very much their own culture and if one doesn't pass certain...tests, shall we say, children are expunged from these families quite quickly."

"You make it sound like some of these children are killed," Vance stated.

"Oh, let me assure you that Miss-"

"Call her by her rank, she's earned it," Gibbs stated flatly. He might have worked for a living, but respect earned was respect deserved. Granger nodded once

"Lt. Whethers was quite lucky to have simply been abandoned, no doubt due to her mother's compassion, as I doubt her father possesses any," Granger stated. "Suffice to say, she did not pass the tests."

"Which take place at eleven," Gibbs stated.

"I can neither confirm nor deny," Granger replied, matching his gaze. "When Leftenant Whethers arrived and started making inquiries, she sparked off a rather nasty bit of political turmoil."

"Because she wasn't supposed to come back?" Vance surmised.

"Because no one knew she existed at all, save for her family who abandoned her," Granger corrected. "Those who are sent away are expected to stay away and not make waves. For her to come back, well, with that particular name, certain powerful factions were not happy."

"So you two are her protection detail," Vance asked.

"I want ID and I still don't believe she's alive, and won't until she's talking," Gibbs argued.

"I have the antidote, I merely need to administer it," she stated. "And no, you cannot inspect it prior to, nor after I administer it. Ministry secret and all that."

"So, you're asking us to trust you with something that could destroy evidence if you're lying, but if you're telling the truth and we don't administer it, she's dead?" Vance asked.

"Precisely," Hermione Granger said with an honest smile. "And I _do _expect you would rather the Leftenant live?"

Vance turned to Gibbs. "Take her down to Ducky."

"What? You believe that?" the special agent burst.

"We can't take the chance otherwise," Vance said. "And besides, if the Lieutenant doesn't wake up, we've still got her."

The good Dame Granger smiled cheekily.

* * *

"Ducky, we're back," Gibbs said with his usual long strides. He glared back at the elevator where Granger was just walking out. "Do you never hurry?"

"As I stated before: I am neither early nor late," she said with a smile that was as mysterious as it was sarcastic. "I arrive exactly when I mean to."

"Ah, the good Mr. Tolkien," Ducky said. "Mother met him once in a pub. Or at least she always said so. Unfortunately that particular story of hers was often crossed with the one of her meeting Nabokov, which made the subsequent discussion on literature rather hard to follow."

"Ducky, Granger, Granger, Ducky."

"Doctor Mallard, you see," The ME stated with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

"Pleasure," Granger said with a shake of the hand. Ducky's eyes flashed up to Gibbs.

"I assume this means that the good director agreed to allow her to administer the antidote?" Ducky asked. At Gibbs' displeased look, he nodded. "And you, Jethro, do not approve."

"Shall we?" Granger asked. "If you would hold her legs please, gentlemen?"

"Why?"

"Because when I administer the antidote, she will wake up suddenly and the last thing she remembers is being chased by people trying to kill her," Granger said flatly as if it was totally obvious. She placed one firm hand on the Lieutenant's shoulder and uncorked a small glass vial in the other before pouring the vile looking contents into the woman's throat.

When Granger said the reaction would be sudden, Gibbs didn't expect for the Lieutenant to suddenly tense as if she'd shot with adrenalin. The blonde girl surged up on the slab and screamed. Gently, but firmly, Granger pushed the younger woman to the table.

"Samantha, you're fine," she said. "What do nargles infest?"

"Mistletoe? Oh god, Hermione!" she said looking up at the other woman. Then she realized she was naked with two older men holding her feet and she screamed again.

And that was when Mr. Palmer walked in and got an eyeful.

It was always amusing to see a grown man faint that way.

* * *

One set of clothes later:

"Are we decent now?" Ducky asked as he came out of his office. "This reminds me of my time in Haiti. Do you know the tale of the Zombie was started due to a form of voodoo which uses naturally occurring chemicals? You see the native practitioners discovered that various plants would turn an individual into a lethargic creature heavily influenced by others, but would seem to have no mind of its own, hence, the living dead. However, once the chemicals are washed from the system, the mind returns. In fact there was a young man who returned to his wife after being a zombie for eighteen years. That must have put a bit of a strain on their relationship." He walked up and smiled to the young officer. "I apologize most heartily for what you experienced. In hindsight, we should have thought of such a thing, however, most of the people who have spent time on that slab haven't protested their lack of clothes."

The poor officer nodded once and moved her hands over her body as if to make sure everything was covered.

"Now can you tell me what the hell is going on?" Gibbs demanded as he strode out, coffee in hand.

"Sorry sir! I wasn't expecting that," Lt. Malfoy-Whethers said with a sharp salute.

"Please, I worked for a living," he stated flatly, and the good lieutenant dropped her hand hesitantly. "Well?"

"Sorry, uh, Agent Gibbs," she said, glancing at Granger for help who nodded and asked her to continue. "Well, I went to England to trace my family. I remembered living in a fancy house, but my memories were vague. My mother's name was Narcissa and my father's was Lu-Lucy, maybe? I couldn't quite remember, but I only called him Father, anyway. Something happened and I was sent away."

"You were found when you were eleven," Gibbs said. "And that's all you can remember?"

"I had a brother, and my name wasn't Samantha then, it was Persephone," she stated. "I don't know why I can't remember, but I can't, although I remember a lot about the house. Father was gone a lot, business or politics, I think. But there was a line of mountains that I always remembered from my window, so I drew them out and started from there."

"And that's when certain parties noticed her close resemblance to her brother," Granger clarified. "She came to our attention for that very reason. Samantha, your resemblance to your brother and mother is remarkable. However, certain people weren't that happy that you had returned."

"So they decided to _kill_ her?" Gibbs asked incredulously.

"Oh, trust me, Agent Gibbs," Granger said. "Samantha is very, very lucky."

"I was attacked in my hotel room," Samantha said. "But they were stopped by Harry."

"Potter?" Gibbs asked, receiving a nod from both women.

"Harry saved her and we took her into protective custody," Granger explained. "The details are classified, but since the good Leftenant came by aeroplane, it was best that she return by the same. We had hoped that being back in the States would protect her."

"But it didn't," Gibbs stated flatly.

"Indeed," Granger said with a tinge of distaste to her voice.

"We had just picked up my luggage and headed down the corridor," she said.

* * *

Then:

"Hermione, are you sure this is fine?" Samantha asked as they walked down the moving walkway only to stop behind a family of six fat children and their massive parents.

"Samantha, you need to relax," Hermione said with a reassuring smile. "You will soon be home and there's a whole ocean between you and them. When you're back on-get down!"

Hermione pushed her down as a beam of light went over her head. People started to panic and flee. The witch looked up to see the familiar form of a Death Eater pointing its wand in their direction. Hers was out and firing off a spell before her opponent could get off another. Seemingly out of nowhere, a red beam hit the attacker from the side, a red-haired man throwing off his invisibility cloak. Hermione glanced up as the security cam above the Death Eater's head fried from the magic. She pushed her charge in front of her and around a corner. She nodded once to the red-haired man and he threw his cloak back over himself, hiding him from view.

Hermione took the woman with her as they kept going down the corridor, but there was a bend and three more of them were blocking the way.

"Oh, it's the mudblood," snarled a familiar voice from behind the mask.

"Oh, it's the ferret," snarled Hermione. She grinned as the figure winced visibly.

"Give us the squib and we'll kill you quickly," the ferret taunted, only to see his left bookend, some nameless thug, collapse under a spell that came from nowhere. The ferret's head spun and lashed out with a purple curse that narrowly missed the invisible bodyguard, but caught the invisibility cloak. "Is Potty here with you?"

"And to think you actually graduated," Hermione grumbled as she hexed the man next to her verbal opponent. She wasn't as kind and it wasn't a stunner she sent. The cutting curse knocked the cloaked and masked Death-Eater-Lite backwards, the slice ending any further protestation. The ferret threw a curse behind him as he ran off. They heard him call out for reinforcements.

Hermione spun on her charge.

"Samantha, we're going to pretend that you were killed," Hermione said, holding out a tiny potion. "It will make you sleep so deeply it will be hard to tell you're alive."

"Like in Romeo and Juliet?"

"Excepting the double suicide at the end," Hermione agreed. Samantha took it as Harry Potter stood over them.

"They're coming," he said, wand out. As the potion went into effect, she watched as the handsome young men sent a few beams of colored light down the long hallway. "Ron, watch our backs."

"Yup," the redhead said from nothing. "She okay?"

"The Draught is working," Hermione assured him.

The next thing Samantha Malfoy-Whethers knew was waking up on the ME's slab.

* * *

"So what are you doing next?" Gibbs asked, having been fed a story about terrorists with guns instead of wands. It was essentially true except for a few points.

"Samantha is going into your protective custody until we can retrieve the terrorists who targeted her," Granger replied. She held up a hand before he could protest. "We have already aliased with the appropriate agency, Special Agent Gibbs. You were informed of this much because of your previous involvement."

And with that she started for the elevator while Gibbs seethed behind her.

* * *

Where am I going with this? Well, I planned to make it a one shot with a shoot out at the end and the obligatory obliviations, but just couldn't get it to work right. After some struggling with it, I decided that this was a good stopping point, although I did want to have Ziva put a bullet between Draco's eyes.

The basic idea was that the Malfoys had a daughter just a few years older than Draco who ended up as a squib. Lucius wanted her killed, but Narcissa managed to just have obliviation and abandonment. Neither were done properly as she still has some memories of that time.

Ducky was an ME during the first Voldemort War and was obliviated, but once again, not well, so he partially recognizes things he shouldn't.

After the second War, the Golden Trio team up as a sort of special forces of the Aurors and take care of difficult situations.

I'd also like to note that I know next to nothing about modern knighting in the UK. I could blather on about knighthood in the 12th Century, but I know little about it today, so I have no idea if the awards I included make any sense at all. If they're wrong, replace it with something that fits better in your head. Like a Nargle Award if that works for you.

I don't own NCIS or HP. CBS and JKR do.


	3. Harry Solo

_I've read a lot of HP/Star Wars crossovers and in almost every single one, Harry becomes a Jedi. And yes, there are some significant similarities between the characters of Luke Skywalker and Harry Potter, but why do the same thing? Why does it have to be that way? It's just another link to the same basic hero cycle, over and over and over again._

_I pondered this a bit. I had lengthy discussions with SpaceMary about the subject as well and we decided to do something about it. We decided to have Harry be linked to a cooler, non-Jedi Star Wars character. No, not Boba Fett. Any bounty hunter that actually needs to be told **not** to disintegrate his targets and gets his ass kicked by a blind man in the desert is _**not**_ cool. Not far off from Gregory Goyle or Vincent Crabbe, actually. Boba Fett is at best comparable to Greyback. But no, he isn't cool. He's a thuggish loser with delusions of adequacy._

_I am, of course, in relation towards Harry's new persona, talking about a certain stuck up, half-witted, scruffy looking nerf herder._

* * *

"Relax Jabba," Harry told his fuming, overweight cousin. "I've got your money."

Duddley Dursley was not the brightest bulb in the socket, nor if brains were lard would he grease too large a pan. He was a thug and didn't really know what a Jabba was, but knew that Harry meant it as an insult. Although most would consider Dudley's ignorance of Star Wars to be a detractor, Dudley was unable to do anything about it: Harry could always get him what he wanted.

If someone wanted a new game: Harry could get it.

If someone wanted something brought into school without the administration or faculty aware: Harry could get it in under the radar.

If a girl (or boy in some cases) wanted a new dress their parents wouldn't allow: Harry could get it for them.

If someone wanted a midnight rendezvous: well, Harry could arrange that with proper obfuscation of the truth and alibis.

Harry was the guy you went to in Little Winging.

Dudley was also quite aware that if he pounded on Harry, or started up another game of "Harry Hunting" that Dudley would be cut off. He didn't understand what had happened, but Harry Potter, his freak of a cousin, had power over him. You see, Harry didn't just smuggle things in for Dudley, he also supplied a lot to the rest of the students. Harry was the guy you went to when you needed something. And if Dudley broke that up, the rest of the school would make him pay.

Basically, Harry had patterned himself after a certain character with a ship that could do point five past lightspeed. Harry wanted nothing more than to emulate Han Solo, and he was doing a pretty good job. Harry was a smuggler. He had the smirk; he had the self-righteous, devil-may-care attitude; and he had the brains to get it done. He also knew the importance in shooting first.

Earlier, Dudley had commissioned his cousin to deliver a package to someone and get the money back. Harry knew the package was some of the more kinky porn his uncle Vernon liked to read (not that Petunia would admit that such a thing was in her house). Dudley knew a guy who wanted some, but knew he'd get caught. So Harry was brought in to do the exchange. Harry smirked as he slapped a few bills in the obese boy's meaty palm.

"There you go, Jabba," Harry said. "Minus my commission, of course."

"What? Hey! You don't get to-"

"Dudley, do you really think I was doing this for free?" Harry asked.

"You're not allowed to have money!"

"Dudley, Dudley, Dudley..." Harry said, firmly placing a hand on his cousin's shoulder. "You know what will happen if you tell Vernon and Petunia, don't you?"

"Yeah! You get locked in the cupboard!"

"That's right, Dudders, that's right," Harry said. "And what happens when I'm locked in the cupboard and nobody can get what they want?"

The gears, small and rusty from disuse, proceeded to grind in the meaty boy's head. After a long moment, realization hit. Harry smirked at the look on his cousin's face.

"That's right Jabba," Harry said. "The other kids send out the bounty hunters for _you_. And you don't want that to happen, do you?"

Dudley nodded silently. Those bounty hunters were mean. They were like, in the 7th grade.

"Are you going to tell Vernon about _you_ stealing his porn to sell to school kids?"

Dudley silently shook his head.

"Good, and that's why I keep my commission," Harry said, patting his cousin on the shoulder like the particularly slow child he was. "See? I knew you'd make the right choice, Jabba."

And with that, Harry turned and walked off, counting his earnings in his head.

This had started years ago when Harry realized that he needed some better clothes. There was an instance of having some shrink to fit him, which had earned him some undeserved physical discipline. Harry realized that he needed some other way of clothing himself. Basically, he needed a different source of income.

His opportunity arrived when he noticed that certain stores would toss out excess stock in dumpsters. Harry would sneak in, take the magazines and resell them to kids at school. The mags might be old, but Harry sold them cheaper than you could buy in the store. He also managed to get a few "specialty items" that required a certain age limit. The other boys and girls started going to him first.

Soon after that, Harry saw Star Wars on the Telly at Mrs. Figg's house.

Not long after that, Harry started taking requests.

Five years later, Harry Potter was the greatest smuggler in primary school for the Surrey area.

Harry got a letter in the box. He was commanded to fetch the mail, and this day he got something. First time for everything. Subtly folding the strange letter, he slipped it into his pocket, careful not to be seen.

"Witchcraft? Wizardry? What kind of hokey religion is this?" Harry asked himself late that night. "And how do I owl someone? And how is that a verb?"

His questions were partially answered by an owl pecking the door to his cupboard and holding out her leg. She'd glance towards the offered appendage expectantly. With a shrug and a "why the hell not?" expression, Harry wrote: "Sure, why the hell not?" and signed his name on the bottom of the parchment.

"Guess I'd better ask where I'm supposed to get that stuff," he muttered before adding a few more questions. He also added a stipulation that they meet him in the park to talk. There wasn't any reason for his relatives to know anything.

He sent it away and mostly forgot about it. Normally, one wouldn't forget a strange night like that, but Harry had a shipment to deliver, so he had other concerns. By the time Harry had delivered the naughty books to their new owners, collected his fee and deposited it in the bank, a strange-looking man was waiting for the boy outside 4 Privet Drive. He was tall, gangly with a hooked nose that stood prominently from his face which was framed perfectly by his mane of well-greased hair. He also had a sneer that would have won any sneering competition, of course the man had years of experience with such an expression. He also wore a pristine black suit with a black tie and a black silk shirt, but seemed uncomfortable with the clothes, as if he hadn't worn such a thing in a long time.

"Potter," the man said, almost spitting it out.

"Yeah, what of it?" Harry replied.

"Come along," the man growled. "I have been tasked to retrieve your supplies for the coming school year."

"Who are you?" Harry demanded. "You know me, but I don't know you."

"I-" the man swallowed, as if he was in pain from being required to have some sort of common decency. "I am Severus Snape, the Potions Master at Hogwarts. You, Potter, will be attending my class."

"So what's the deal with the owl?" Harry demanded, accepting his statement at base level.

"Owl? You responded, so I assume you understand the purpose," the older man sneered.

"Yeah, but why owls?"

"Never mind that! We've business to attend to!" the offending man snarled.

"Whatever," Harry said with a shrug. "Let's go."

That was when Petunia Dursley opened the door.

"You!" she hissed in anger and horror.

"You," Snape drawled in a tone like he'd just eaten something veritably unpalatable.

"What are you doing here?" Harry's Aunt demanded. Then she glanced down to see Harry standing next to the man. "Boy! What are you doing there? Go finish the garden! Get away from that freak!"

Severus Snape twitched. It was the kind of twitch one sees in people just before they break from stress and start shooting sprees from clock towers.

"Petunia," he began, managing to speak the word like it was one of the worst insults possible. "Potter will be attending your sister's alma mater."

"That freak won't be going anywhere!" the woman hissed. "He's freakish enough now, I'm not going to let him go _there_ like _she_ did!"

Severus Snape sneered his champion sneer, pointed a stick at her and said "stupify."

As his aunt collapsed unconscious in the doorway, Harry figured that Snape was an alright guy.

A moment later, the man held onto Harry's shoulder and teleported them directly in front of a building that looked like it was about to collapse named Gringott's.

Then there was a short side adventure involving lots of gold, wandering around among crazy people (wizards and witches), and making purchases. Eventually they got to the point where Harry needed his school robes. Once that was done, he had a special request.

"I need a few pairs of pants," Harry said with a smirk. "Black with a red stripe going down each leg. I need a white shirt and a black vest. Gimme five of each."

A few minutes later, Harry came out looking like a short Han Solo with bad eyesight.

"A wookie, some fuzzy dice and I should be alright," he announced.

Snape sneered.

* * *

Later Harry went back to his relatives for the rest of the summer. At some point a huge man walked up and gave him an owl. She didn't look like a Chewie, but she had potential.

Weeks after that, he got on the bus and made it to the train on time, and got inside. He hauled his trunk onto the ramp, and into a compartment only to run into a dark haired boy about his age.

"Uh, hi," the boy said. "Sorry, I'm looking for my toad."

"Fair enough," Harry said. "What's it look like?"

"Uh...it's green and it's a toad," the boy said numbly.

"Right," Harry said. "I deserved that."

It took some time, but they managed to search the train, having several encounters here and there both positive and negative. A negative was a blond idiot pretending to be a Grand Moff. The more positive encounter involved a nice girl with wild, untamed hair: Hermione Granger.

"_I'm_ Hermione Granger," she said, hands on hips with an authoritative tone.

Harry shrugged and put on his lopsided grin. "Harry Potter."

"Are you _really_?"

"That's what they tell me, Princess," Harry replied with a smirk. He pointed over his shoulder. "This guy's Neville."

"Le-let's go sit down," Neville suggested.

And so they did. It was a wonderful ride. Then they went to Hogwarts and went into Gryffindor House. Snape sucked (except for him hexing Petunia, which was still totally awesome), Quirrel stank, Herbology was dirty, History was boring, Charms was fun and Transfiguration was informative. Just before Halloween, Harry went to the two most talented pranksters in the school. The Weasley Twins and their friend, Lee Jordan, were geniuses if they actually cared about grades, they would have been top three of their year, easy. But they didn't care, but that doesn't mean they didn't like a challenge.

"I've got something I need made, and everything I hear is that you three are the people to go to," Harry said, setting a diagram and a photograph on the table.

"What's that?"

"It's a blaster," Harry explained. "Shoots bolts of hyper focused energy that can burn or can be set to a setting that shoots a stunning electrical burst."

"Why not learn the spells?" Jordan asked.

Harry told them why.

* * *

Later:

"Misters Weasley and Jordan, what _are_ you building?" their Head of House demanded.

"A blaster-" said George.

"-Professor McGonagall," finished Fred,

"And why is that?" the Transfiguration professor asked. The twins shrugged and let Lee answer for them.

"Because old men and hokey religions are no substitute for a good blaster at your side," Jordan replied. "Or at least that's what Harry Potter said."

McGonagall massaged her temples with her fingers as she walked off. "That boy is going to be as bad as his father one day."

* * *

There was a troll in the dungeon. That in and of itself was unusual, but not everyone had attended dinner, so Harry ran down to the bathroom with Neville at his side. They swung the door open and ran inside.

"We're here to rescue you," Neville said, breathing heavy.

Hermione dobbed at her eyes and said: "Aren't you both too short for Prefects?"

Harry would have returned a witty reply, but the troll burst in. Hermione looked at the blaster in Harry's hand and shrugged. In for a penny, in for a pound. Grabbing the blaster, she blew a hole in the wall.

"Into the garbage chute, flyboys," she commanded before taking the dive.

* * *

And just because not much different happened, we'll just skip to the end of the year because not much came to mind.

Harry walked through the flames and saw not Snape, but Quirrel attempting to gain entrance into the mirror for the Philosopher's Stone. The crazy guy was talking to himself in two voices, but as the professor started to turn around, Harry noticed the man's wand in his hand. With little time to react, Harry did the only logical thing.

Harry shot first.

The blaster bolt made a nice hole through Quirrel's head. There was a bunch of dust muttering something about revenge, but Harry just shrugged and pocketed the Philosopher's Stone. Maybe he could get a little something for it.

* * *

That Summer, Harry was accosted by a thing that looked like an emaciated Yoda on drugs. So Harry hit it with a stun blast and stuffed it in the closet.

When the portal to 9 and ¾ wouldn't open, Ron Weasley got the bright idea to fly in his father's car instead. The boy wanted to drive, but Harry would have none of it.

"Buckle up, kid," Harry said. "We're in for a bumpy ride"

They arrived four hours earlier than the train and the only muggles who saw them thought it was a stress induced hallucination.

Ron Weasley would never again want to have anything to do with a crazy guy like Harry Potter. In this, he would be disappointed.

Harry Potter, on the other hand, bought a pair of fuzzy dice for the rearview.

* * *

Things happened. Harry Potter was outed as a parslemouth, people were petrified, Draco Malfoy and his father were assholes. Yada, yada, yada.

Eventually, Ginny Weasley was kidnapped and taken to the Chamber of Secrets. There was an incident with Lockheart being an asshole, but Harry shot him and everything was cool. With Neville going to get some sane, competent adults (a rather hard task in Hogwarts), Harry descended into the Chamber of Secrets alone.

Inside he found a boy a few years older than him wearing Slytherin robes.

"She won't wake up you know," the boy said. He continued talking, but Harry ignored him until he did this silly name thing, showing that the kid was actually Voldemort. Then the boy called for the basilisk. Harry grumbled, flipped his blaster from stun to kill, and promptly shot the diary.

"Lousy conversation anyways," Harry grumbled. He glanced up at the statue's mouth that started to open and realized the basilisk was arriving. He glanced to where Neville had come with Fawkes. "We've got company!"

Between the two of them, Neville with the Sword of Gryffindor, and Harry with his blaster, they managed to kill the Basilisk and save the day.

* * *

"Harry, I don't care if she owes you a life debt," Hermione said. She clearly wasn't pleased and she was in full on bossy-mode. Her hands were on her hips, and her face was doing the girl's best "Angry McGonagall" impression.

"But it's a life debt! She owes me! It's a magic thing!" Harry protested, holding up his hands as if to ward off her anger.

"I don't care!" Hermione said again as she gave him **The Look™**. "You are _not_ turning Ginny Weasley into a Wookie!"

"Relax, your worship!" Harry replied quickly. "You've made your point!"

"Stop calling me that!"

* * *

Lucius Malfoy was only half displeased. While his scheme hadn't gone fully and killed the blood traitor brats, he was still relatively unscathed. Then he saw Harry Potter standing in front of him.

"Going somewhere?" the boy demanded.

Lucius sneered at the child, dressed in his muggle white shirt, muggle vest and muggle pants with their idiotic red stripes. Still, he caught the book that had started the whole thing. Only after passing it to Dobby did the "former" death eater realize it had been a trap all along. He had just freed the house elf. He brought his wand up to kill the brat, but the boy and Dobby were faster. Lucius was flying backwards and a moment later he was engulfed in blue light.

Lucius woke up in the Chamber of Secrets naked, wandless and without anything to eat. Next to him was a note. "You're small fry when compared to this."

Lucius looked behind him and realized what the brats had just killed.

On the other side of the note was a smiley face and the note: "Too bad you can't speak parsletongue."

The smiley face winked and stuck its tongue out at him.

* * *

"Mr. Harry Potter Sir, what should be Dobby be doing now?" the newly freed house elf asked.

Harry glanced around as he clearly didn't have any idea. "I don't know...teach Neville how to be a Jedi? Build me a Millennium Falcon that works? Get Ron a cape so he can pull off a Lando?"

"That is being a great idea!" Dobby said before popping away. Harry shrugged and promptly forgot about the conversation. Neville, on the other hand, lived to regret it. While Harry's life was relatively calm that summer, Neville was forced to run with a house elf on his back, do flips while doing the same and forced to learn enough wandless magic to float a Corellian Freighter. About half way through the summer, Dobby hired some random recent graduates from Hogwarts to fire spells at the unfortunate young boy. Out of desperation, Neville discovered how to form a blade of energy from his wand that could block almost any spell and out of self-preservation the reflexes and precognition to do so in battle.

* * *

"Wait, so you're my godfather, who isn't the evil guy everybody says he is, and you can turn into a dog?" Harry asked.

"Yeah, that about sums it up," Sirius Black replied.

"And you're after the guy who really betrayed my parents, who is living as my friend's rat?"

"Yup."

"Wait here, I'll go get him."

"He's dangerous," Sirius cautioned. Harry smirked.

"So am I," the boy replied as he pulled out his blaster.

Sirius eyed the object and then took in the boy's outfit.

"Wait, this looks familiar," the escapee said. "You're a scoundrel, aren't you?"

"Well, to hear Hermione, I'm a stuck up, half-witted, scruffy looking, nerf herder," Harry replied. "But that's pure shite. I'm quite clean-shaven and I've never even seen a nerf."

"Yep, you're James' son," Sirius nodded.

* * *

And with one stunner blast, Peter Pettigrew was captured. Sirius was cleared, Fudge was stunned repeatedly, and Neville blocked the attacking aurors long enough for the entire story to get out to all the kids, who sent the true story to their parents and eventually everything got out. Everything was fine until that summer when Harry, Sirius, Ron and Hermione took the Falcon out for a spin. They earned a world record for the number of infractions against the international statute of secrecy in one summer: 4,897. Neville, on the other hand, found himself training with Dobby in a swamp outside New Orleans. Dobby also built him an X-Wing.

At the trial, Harry argued that it wasn't an infraction at all, and that the Falcon was well known by muggles and used the Star Wars films as "evidence" of Harry's ability to blend in. The purebloods had to admit that he was right. Had there been any muggleborns in the audience, they would have been laughing their asses off. And that was why Harry was cleared to fly anywhere he wanted to.

* * *

I just thought I'd note that I don't own Star Wars or Harry Potter, JKR and George Lucas do, but not in that order.


	4. Kal El and the Goblet of Fire

**Kal-El and the Goblet of Fire**

* * *

"Wait, I'm allowed to ask for a substitute?" Harry asked, surprised. Ludo Bagman nodded.

"Yes, while it is a magical contract, it does allow for people to not take part if they change their minds before the first task," the man said.

Harry smirked. He knew just the person. "Okay, I'm going to ask for Kal-El of Krypton to act as my substitute."

* * *

In Metropolis, a certain mild-mannered reporter frowned as his coffee cup broke. He had a bad feeling about today.

About an hour, and two alien attacks later, Superman was looking at three crazy people in robes and pointed hats.

"Hello, Kal-El, I presume?" the man with the long beard asked.

"Yes," the Man of Steel replied. "Although, these days, most people know me as Superman."

"Right," the bearded man said with a nod. "You've been chosen as a substitute for Mr. Harry Potter in the Tri-Wizard Tournament. He is only 14 and you need to be seventeen to enter, so since he was entered against his will, he requested that you compete in his stead."

"What is this tournament?" the Last Son of Krypton inquired. What followed was a brief, but rather disturbing history of the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Superman didn't think _anyone_ should be taking part, much less a child of 14. "I accept."

"Wonderful! The first even takes place in November," a pompous looking man next to the guy with a beard said, muttering something about gambling winnings.

* * *

Superman pulled out a black colored dragon from the bag. He shrugged and glanced over his "competition." The blonde girl seemed to be drooling over him, but she was no Lois Lane. The dark haired boy seemed to glare at him darkly. The blond boy just smiled and nodded in greeting.

He heard the boos and cheers of the other contestants and walked out into the arena. The task was simple: get the golden egg and don't let the dragon eat him. The Last Son of Krypton walked out into the arena, grabbed the dragon by the tail and spun at super-speed, letting go so the Hungarian Horntail went on an involuntary trip westward out of the arena.

* * *

The next task was easy to figure out. It was a simple matter to use his Super-Hearing to decipher the screaming coming from the egg, and a Super-Hunch to divine the riddle. He and Lois also had a very nice night dancing a the Yule Ball. Then when the second task came about, it was a simple matter to save Lois. He'd had plenty of practice. Superman was in and out of the water before the other contestants had even reached their hostages. Then he heard the screams of the blonde contestant.

Diving back into the water, he used his super-breath to freeze the attacking sea creatures and rescue the little girl tied to the stake, placing her in her sister's waiting arms. Then, just to be safe, he rescued the other contestants and their hostages.

* * *

The third task, Kal-El had a decent head start. He had been banned from flying so he used Super-Hearing and X-Ray Vision to detect where the chalice was, and used Super-Leap to jump the hedges until he got there. He grabbed the chalice and promptly vanished.

Three minutes later, The Man of Steel arrived back at Hogwarts with a plump, rat-faced man in one hand and a thing that closely resembled an animated, aborted fetus that was howling about the indignities of being hauled around like a common criminal.

"Be careful," Superman cautioned. "The fat one can turn into a rat."

Needless to say, Fudge wasn't too pleased when the Last Son of Krypton captured him and threw him in jail after the self-centered minister ordered the two criminals Kissed (Superman did not consider "removing someone's soul" to be an acceptable form of punishment). The next minister freed Sirius Black, had all the Death Eaters incarcerated and had Voldy-Baby encased in carbonite and stored in the Watchtower. Superman would have stayed for the award ceremony, but alien cyborgs were attacking Metropolis again.

* * *

All in all, Harry had a very good year.

He leaned back in his lawn chair, slid on some sunglasses, and drank a butter beer.

* * *

_Where I'm going with this? Nowhere. It was just a stray thought that I had to jot down. While it could be used as a basis for a larger fic, I think it works well as is. "Harry Potter and the Relaxing Year" wouldn't make for a very interesting fic, after all. And for people who were wondering, this is Pre-Crisis Superman, just for fun._

_Oh, and once more, I own neither Superman nor Harry Potter._


	5. Harry One Half

**Harry ½**

* * *

_Okay, so SpaceMary and I were discussing one of the biggest plot holes in the HP series: how many other mothers died to protect their children? Why only Lily and Harry?_

_Since Lily was known to be one of the smartest witches in some time, we figured that she must have made some kind of spell of protection, but one that required a human sacrifice, which she and James became when they died. Granted, there's nothing in HP cannon to support this aside from some supposition on our parts._

_So this story grew out of that discussion and an all-night anime binge. We hadn't done something like that in almost ten years and we're probably not going to do it again. I don't know if it was the massive amount of carbonated beverages, the anime, or just plain exhaustion, but my brain came up with this. Some parts are written by SpaceMary as she lets me get some time to work on my massive paper that my computer kindly wiped out when my old hard drive failed. Thank you computer for wiping out a 100 page thesis! Thank you so much! (Of course, it's my own fault for not backing up, but hey, river in Egypt)._

_So the basic idea is transforming HP into a Ranma style story, while still keeping it very much Harry Potter. Characters are changed slightly; James and Lily survived; Sirius never went to prison; Petty Peter Pettigrew is dead (having given his life to save Harry's); Harry has his animagus form; Hermione has cat ears and a tail; and a few other things. Some other things aren't changed at all: Draco is a prick; Ron is a prick; Dumbledore is still a kindly grandfather figure bitten by a radioactive manipulator; Ginny is obsessed with the Boy Who Lived; Snape is an asshole lusting after Harry's Mom. Then we decided to use our literary and historical backgrounds and added in three weird sisters for Harry. Triplets. And yes, they do have a cauldron that bubbles._

_I'll be honest, the idea is pretty stupid, blatantly ripping off Ranma 1/2. While the show and manga are fun, this didn't end up as good as I hoped. It's a mishmash of cliches and overused tropes of both Harem Anime and fanfiction. It's an idea, and parts of it are fun, but I'm not going to continue it. I might change it, because I really like the idea of Harry having three Weird Sisters. I might use that part of it again some time.  
_

* * *

The Summary of the Idea

Harry's parents live because, Peter Pettigrew was really a spy, not a traitor, and gave up his life to fulfill the sacrifice Lily had needed for the protection spell. He burst into Godric's Hollow with Voldemort, put Sirius into a bodybind, tucked Peter's journal into his friend's coat and sent him a way by port key. Voldemort kills Peter, and is killed on the rebound when cursing Harry.

James and Lily try to live a normal life in England, but after five years, the press and others won't leave them alone.

They go into hiding, and Harry meets up with Hermione as a child. They become best friends and promise to marry each other.

Magical Britain catches up with the Potter family once more, after Harry and Draco get into a fistfight and promise to meet in a duel. Harry waits for three days for Draco to show up, but Draco was too stupid to know how to use the Floo, and ended up somewhere in India.

The Potter family decides to go on a long, continuous trip around the world, learning magic from all walks of life.

James and Lily have triplet girls, identical and look like Lily, but with James' messy hair.

One drunken night back in Hogwarts, James and Sirius made an agreement to join their families in the next generation. Nymphadora Tonks is set up to marry Harry, and she isn't happy about being engaged to someone 7 years her junior.

Years later, (since Draco hasn't been found yet) Malfoy sr. decides to take care of the "boy who lived" by sending Dobby with the Diary. Harry sends a homemade magic present as a thank you gift.

The gift interferes with a potion Lucius was brewing to give himself a magical animagus form, blows up, killing him.

Everyone thinks Draco is dead.

When he finds out (after buying a Daily Prophet in a magical market) Draco blames everything on Harry, even if it was a simple accident.

Sirius realizes that Narcissa Black-Malfoy, once more just Black, now qualifies for the agreement, and so he engages her to Harry as well.

Years later, the Potter family is in France and accidentally stumble onto a Veela colony.

Harry is able to shake off the Allure of the Veela and catches their attention.

Fleur's great-grandmother commands that such a boy should not be allowed to get away since he's a treasure.

She declares that the first Veela, or part Veela to kiss Harry gets to marry him.

Harry doesn't know french and so doesn't know what Fleur's great-grandmother says, but she sounds angry.

He tries to get away, but trips, sending up a bowl of fruit salad that splashes in the faces of most veela, allowing Fleur to grab him and give him a massive smooch on the lips.

Harry, stunned and afraid of what just happened, runs away.

The Ministry decides that the Boy-Who-Lived should have a pureblood fiancee.

Sirius points out that he has previous agreements

The Ministry decides that's fine, and decrees that Harry Potter doesn't need to choose, and will fulfill all the agreements.

Hermione goes to Hogwarts.

She finds out that her Fiance, Harry Potter, is actually a living legend.

People don't believe her that she's engaged to Harry until she swears on her life and magic that it's true.

She starts getting some real respect.

Ron is an ass, and Hermione goes into the bathroom and gets attacked by the troll.

She gets really pissed and does some accidental magic, knocking it out.

The teachers show up to see the twelve-year-old girl, beating the troll with its own club.

Years later, Ronald Weasley wants to get into Hermione's panties (when he suddenly realizes she's a girl) and practically demands that it happens.

Ron learns what happened to the Troll's club: Hermione kept it.

Draco makes the "magical animagus" potion and takes it. His "magical animal" form is Crookshanks.

His mother, not knowing that her son is stuck in half-kneasle form, sells Draco to a pet shop and he later gets resold to Hermione Granger.

He hasn't managed to figure out how to transform back into a human, so he's stuck for years.

Only when Harry shows back up, does his anger allow him to transform.

At 16, Harry returns to Britain

They go back to the house across from the Grangers and Harry meets up with Hermione again.

Harry forgot that they got engaged

Hermione gets angry and reminds him with some troll based memory triggers

They kiss and make up.

Draco is angry, seeing his "owner" in the arms of his worst enemy.

Crookshanks-Malfoy knocks a glass of water onto Harry in the night, transforming him into girl-type Harry in their sleep.

The glass doesn't break, causing Harry to bleed to death, like Draco wanted.

Hermione wakes up with her arms full of short, redheaded, extra buxom witch.

A very affectionate buxom witch.

Hermione is angry and surprised, but then realizes Harry makes a better lover since he knows what makes a woman tick.

Harry also reveals that this is the result of his own "magical animagus" transformation, only that his "magical animal" is a Witch.

Draco is more angry at the result

James is suddenly reminded of his agreement with Sirius to join their families.

He takes Harry to the Grim Old Place (which has had a transformation and looks like a 70s era shag-shack instead)

Waiting there are Sirius, Narcissa and Tonks as well as Sirius 47 illegitimate sons and his 12 official mistresses.

'Due to a curse, Sirius isn't able to have daughters which is why Tonks and Narcissa are there.

Sirius says Harry needs to choose between them.

Harry suggests one of Sirius' sons marry one of his sisters

James explains that Harry, himself was specified, so that wouldn't work.

Harry reminds them that he's already got one fiancee, and Hermione probably wouldn't like it if he chooses another.

Sirius grins and says that's fine. Harry will marry both single Black women.

Harry tries to beat his head in

Hermione finds out about the situation and gives James and Sirius a little Troll based punishment

Lily looks over the documents and sadly states that there is nothing he can do.

Everything is official

Then they go to Hogwarts for their sixth year.

* * *

Characters

Hermione Granger: She is a bit more angry than in cannon. She was forced to defend herself from the troll in first year and carried the club around ever since in a special glove with a dimensional pocket. She was childhood friends with Harry when the Potters were hiding in the muggle world and they agreed to marry each other. She doesn't find out until many years later that her Harry was THE Harry Potter. She got cat ears from her adventures in second year. Luna became her best friend as fellow outcasts. In her third year, she bought an orange half-kneasle which she named Crookshanks. She is unaware that this is really Draco Malfoy's magical animagus form that he had been trapped in for several years. She is both Akane and Ukyo in the story.

Harry Potter: Harry is not the angsty kid from cannon. Raised by his parents all over the world, he has a very good education in both magical and muggle pursuits. He also has horrid luck. He had a childhood rivalry with Draco Malfoy that resulted, unbeknownst to Harry, in the dramatic and explosive death of Lucius Malfoy. Harry traveled around the world with his parents, learning all sorts of skills and magics. He also gained a healthy appreciation for Neko-mimi from his years in Japan. Due to a number of accidents and events, he is engaged to a Ranma-esque number of women. He also gains a gender-swapping "magical animagus" form.

Draco Malfoy: he is an asshole. At the tender age of five, Draco Malfoy challenged Harry Potter to a duel behind the Potters' Godric's Hollow house. Draco didn't know how to use the floo and ended up in India. While he was trying to get back, he manages to piss off the locals and ends up in Nepal. In Katmandu, he finds an abandoned manual on taking the forms of magical animals such as thestrals or phoenixes. He didn't know it was abandoned for a reason, since it was missing the second half that explained that almost all people who try this get stuck in the magical form. He manages to get back to Britain just as his father was working on a special potion. Draco decides that at the tender age of 8 he is powerful enough (from his pure lineage) to become a magical animagus. He succeeds and gets stuck in the form of an orange half-Kneasle. Draco, being the little pisser that he is, kicked the cauldron in a fit, upsetting the mix. When Lucius drinks it, he explodes spectacularly. Narcissa, not recognizing her son, sells the wayward kneasle-cross to Magical Menagerie, where he stays until Hermione buys him since no one likes his nasty personality. Draco is presumed dead. Draco gets his form back when he sees Harry and Hermione in bed together and the pure rage he feels at the "rival" for his owner's affections. He yells out "POTTER PREPARE TO DIE!" and tries to attack Harry, but only knows spells from a child. He is the "Ryoga" of the story.

Ron Weasley: Ron is an arrogant, disgusting prat. He is self-important and without Harry there, he's a complete ass. He decides that since Hermione is a girl, she should date him, since everybody else is dating someone. She disagrees violently with both club and hexes. He doesn't seem to be able to take no for an answer. He also starts hitting on girl-type Harry. He is the Kuno of the story.

Ginny Weasley: Ginny is obsessed with the BWL to the point that she feels that she deserves him, and that they are destined to be married even if they have never met. She uses potions, powders, poisons and hexes to try and get him. She has instant hate for Hermione's close relationship with Harry. She is the Kodachi of the story.

Dean and Seamus: Goofball friends of Harry's. Analogus to Ranma's buddies.

Fleur Delacour: Fleur was at a Veela family reunion when Harry, lost and alone, stumbled into the party. He was about 14 and she was just about to head off to the Tri-Wizard Tournament. When the Veela noticed he wasn't affected by their Allure, Fleur's great-grandmother declared that they couldn't let him get away because he wouldn't just drool over them. She stated that the woman who kissed him first would get to keep him. A fight broke out, causing Harry to run off, but not before Fleur stunned him and kissed him in a way that would make pornstars blush. Harry was still a little scared (having a rather strict mother figure) and ran away. Fleur swore to keep him and shows up randomly. Harry, not knowing French, thinks she's out to kill him when all she wants are a few little deaths (orgasms). She is the Shampoo of the story.

Sirius Black: With the survival of the Potters, he never went to jail. He became a father to 47 strapping young boys with 23 different women, never having a daughter. However, he and James Potter made a deal back in Hogwarts to join their families together as one, so he forces Tonks into an engagement with Harry. The Black Boys make up 2/3 of the lower years in Hogwarts. Sirius is also a perve. He is the Soun Tendo of the story.

James Potter: He grew up, married Lily Evans, had Harry when they were hiding and later had more children with Lily. He is pretty much whipped. While he has some Genma-ish tendencies, he isn't abusive to Harry, simply making it known that there's no reason Harry can't learn all magic that there is, making him a wizard among wizards. If he's naughty, Lily will turn him into a Panda as punishment.

Lily Evans Potter: She's a badass. Not only is she the brightest witch of her generation, she has an ability with research and history that is nothing short of legendary. To save her son, she managed to revive an ancient druidic spell that would block even the Killing Curse, however it required a human sacrifice to enact the protection. She intended it to be her, but Peter Petigrew grew a pair and portkeyed Sirius out, protected Harry against his master and sacrificed himself. And so Harry grew up with both parents. In the years following, "imperiused" Death Eaters managed to get people thinking she was a dark witch for having a spell that required a sacrifice. This is, of course, ignoring the fact that she intended to be the sacrifice herself. And so, they left Britain to travel the world. Lily never stopped learning, even when she was pregnant in Magical India with triplets. She does have a bit of a temper and knows a scary number of curses, so people rarely mess with her a second time. The exception is when young Draco Malfoy hit her with a Confundus charm, causing her to be a little weird at times. She's still hot even after all these years. She and Harry's girl form are frequently mistaken for sisters.

Nymphadora Tonks: Metamorphamagus, she is an auror and not too pleased to find out that her cousin and Head of House Black engaged her to a boy seven years younger than her, who she doesn't remember as anything other than a 4 year old with messy black hair. She does get angry some times and turns into a "battle form" of several animals, while still retaining the ability to cast spells. She is playful and needs money some times. While she likes Harry, she sees him as a younger brother. She is both the Nabiki and the Pantyhose Taro of the story.

Narcissa Malfoy: Mother of Draco, beloved blonde beauty of Black, widow of the Idiot Malfoy (who killed himself with a pepper-up potion), she is the last Malfoy. Due to certain events (Fudge wanting the Malfoy money to continue flowing) she is contracted to have an heir to the Malfoy family with Harry Potter. She tends to have anger issues and occasionally cast spells at random. She is the Hinako Ninomiya of the story.

Daphne Greengrass: the Ministry decides that the Boy-Who-Lived needs a Pureblood wife. They choose Daphne. Harry and the Potters were in Australia when this happened, so they don't know until later. However, Daphne is a lipstick lesbian. She despises Harry until she sees his buxom, redheaded female form. Then she's all over _her_ like duck-tape and bondo on an old car. She sneaks into his bed, into Hermione's bed, into Harry's sisters' beds (since they look almost exactly like Harry's female form). She is still utterly disgusted by Harry's male form and tries to find ways to trap him as a girl. Harry both loves and hates the attention.

Harry's Sisters Three: They be sisters three. They look almost like clones of their mother, green eyes, bright red hair with bigger boobs than their mom had, but the triplets are basically obsessed with Shakespeare. They love that Hermione's name was from a character, but they act constantly like the Three Witches from MacBeth, regardless of whether Harry is the future king of Scotland or not. They aren't seers, but they make predictions that are bizzarely accurate. All are Ravenclaws and make Luna look normal. Ends up they actually ARE clones of Lily made when James discovered he couldn't have any more children due to a nasty curse, but at least he could still have sex.

Remus Lupin: not sure what to do with him.

Madame Pince: She's the Librarian, with a capital "L" and she doesn't allow any funny business. If you're late with a library book, well, you'll be wishing for the Cruciatus curse.

* * *

And now...the story starter...

* * *

"Okay son," James Potter said as they walked out of Heathrow Airport and into the damp English air. "After eleven years the Potters have returned to Britain."

"It looks exactly like I remember it," Lily said, walking up behind her son and husband. Three girls followed, looked all like clones of their mother. All three had long, straight red hair, heavy, rounded breasts and "child birthing" hips. They weren't svelte nor did they have that skinny, near anorexic look that most models or celebrities have, but they were still quite beautiful, breaking the mold.

"It's wet," Harry said with a growl.

"It's England," his mother said. "It's almost always wet."

"Bergen wasn't this wet," Harry grumbled. "Seattle wasn't this wet and cold. Hell, the Amazon during the rainy season at least had warm rain. Cold, wet, miserable, bigoted island of perverts."

"Just because you were groped three times since we landed is no reason to condemn an island," the three girls intoned perfectly.

"Sod off, you three," Harry muttered with a glance back at his sisters. That earned him a quick whack to the back from his mother and a strict look from his father. "Whatever, so where are we going? Godric's Hollow?"

"Not yet," his father said with a grin. "We've got business in London!"

The younger four looked at the man suspiciously.

"Business? Dad, I just want to go home and sleep," Harry said.

"That won't be for a while yet," James said with a winning smile. He was up to something. He knew it, Lily knew it, and their children knew it. Just to make matters worse, lightning lit up the sky. A moment later, a taxi drove by, splashing Harry with nasty toxic rainy sludge.

"I hate London."

As they got to the Potter London flat it was up to Harry to haul the magically shrunk, but not significantly lightened bags up to the second floor flat. The long, winding, steep stairs seemed to go on forever. He glanced up to see his sisters staring down at him with impish grins before vanishing once more. He snarled, but continued hauling the bags up, annoyed that they were in Britain. Stupid underage sorcery decrees.

The Potter flat took up the entire top two floors of the Georgian building. It was magically enlarged and expanded so it actually contained three floors and five bedrooms, although only three were in use, as the sisters always stayed together.

Those sisters were currently plotting.

"When shall we three meet again?" asked the first. "In thunder, lightning or in Rain?"

"When the heavy lifting's done," answered the second. "When Harry's Task is all but done."

"That will be near set of sun," grumbled the third.

"Where is the place?" asked the first.

"Within the flat," replied the second.

"There to meet with Granger," clarified the third.

_"Bloody Merlin!"_ Harry bellowed with a volume and fervor that would have even Vernon Dursley impressed. "Quit with the Shakespeare and move your own bloody bags!"

The first looked to the second and grinned.

"Me thinks he doth protest to much," she said before the trio split and vanished.

"Me thinks he protest just enough," Harry grumbled. Carrying his own bags was one thing; he didn't mind hefting his parents' bags. But his sisters skiving off got his goat. "Just have to donate them to an orphanage. The girls don't need more than one set of clothes after all."

Before he even finished his threat, the trio was barreling down the steps in search of their bags. Harry just grinned. "Works every time."

"All done Harry?" Lily asked. Harry smirked.

"Oh, yes," he said. "_I'm_ done. Can't say the same for the Weird Sisters."

"Oh, Harry, don't call them that," his mother chided, not for the first time. Harry just shrugged.

"If the shoe fits..."

"So they tried to run off again?"

Harry nodded. "Told them I'd donate their trunks to the orphans," Harry replied with a smirk.

"Some day they won't believe you," his mother reminded.

"Then I guess some orphans will have some nice new clothes," Harry said.

"Scamp! Go out, take a walk," Lily said, pushing him towards the stairs. "We haven't been here in six years, so go see what's changed."

"Aye-Aye!" he replied with a sharp salute before trudging down the stairs.

By the time Harry got down the stairs, it had stopped raining, but still had that oppressive humidity that seemed to cling to everything. Harry was no exception as he wandered around his old stomping grounds. Aside from some businesses, everything seemed to have remained the same. At sixteen years old, Harry was rather unique among his peers, both magical and mundane, as he had not attended formal school, although passed his tests and examinations with magnificent results, something that most instructors leaned towards his mother's influence, although they seemed to forget that Harry's father was no slouch either. You didn't become Head Boy at Hogwarts by getting poor grades.

However, he was now back in Britain where if you didn't take your OWLs and NEWTs, it didn't matter what you published or where you studied elsewhere. He'd managed to take his OWLs at a British embassy, so he had them, but some idiot politician had passed some law that if the Boy-Who-Lived didn't return to magical Britain, the Potter money and properties were forfet. James Potter hated to bow to the idiots in the Wizigamot, but he couldn't face his parents' paintings if they lost everything.

Harry knew there was another reason for calling him back, other than the massive stupidity behind the whole "boy who lived" myth, but neither he, nor his parents knew what. There was something else that James was plotting, but who knew what that was? Taking a break, Harry slipped out the door to the flat and trudged down the road to where his childhood friend lived.

Hermione Granger.

It had been years since he'd last seen her...

* * *

"And you see, son, that is why you have to marry Nymphadora!" James told his son.

"I didn't come here to get married! I came here to get an education because they won't let me take my NEEWTS by corrispondance!" Harry protested. "Who came up with this crazy idea in the first place?"

James put an arm around his son's shoulders.

"Son, it all goes back to my fifth year..."

"Is this another one of your stupid flashbacks?" Harry asked.

"Shush and watch what happened," James told him sternly.

Doodily doodily, doodily doodily.

"We're not flashing back, that's just Uncle Sirius wiggling his fingers and making nonsense words," Harry chided. "Why don't you just admit that you did it when you two got drunk."

"Okay," Sirius admitted, "we did it when we got drunk. In a side bet, Remus had to ask Snape to the formal that year. It didn't go over well, although I still declare that Snape seriously considered it."

* * *

**Another Disjointed scene:**

"POTTER PREPARE TO DIE!" Draco bellowed as he jumped down from his perch in an attempt to smother the other boy. Harry jumped out of the way, letting the blond fall to the ground.

"Crooky, what are you doing here?"

"I'm going to ruin your happyness!"

Harry turned to Hermione and shrugged. "Am I happy?"

"With me?" Hermione asked. "My Troll Club says yes."

"It's good to know you're Troll Club is a seer," Harry agreed quickly as he dodged another hex from Draco's wand.

* * *

Where am I going with this? Well, it's an idea that burned itself out for the immediate moment, but I'm seriously thinking of coming back to it. I think it might be zainy enough to be fun and not too over the top. It would be guaranteed to offend a good 25% of readership, which could be considered a good thing in debate, but not always in fanfiction. Tell me what you think!

Oh, and I don't own HP and I don't own Ranma 1/2.


	6. Harry Potter and the D12 of Power

**Harry Potter and the D12 of Power**

* * *

_This is an early version of a story I'm actually working on right now, but my new version ended up quite differently. In the new version: Andrew Wells and D12 of Power, Andrew and Hanna are Watcher and Slayer and the main characters. It's also a crossover with NCIS: LA._

_This, however, is a primitive version that I still thought was good enough to share as is, even if it has been very edited since._

* * *

Harry Potter was not what the Wizarding World expected. After all the hype, the rumors and inflated references, he was made out to be some kind of avenging angel who would right the wrongs and sort good from evil once and for all. They saw him as something of a religious icon, a messiah come to rescue them and herald a golden age to come.

What they got was an eleven year old kid with John Lennon glasses, messy hair, clothes that didn't fit, a back pack full of "spell" books that had nothing to do with the Wizarding World, a belt pouch full of strangely shaped dice of colors not found in nature, and a shirt that said: "I'm not a loser, I'm a 14th level Paladin."

In a word, Harry Potter was a geek.

And not just any kind of geek: Harry Potter was a card carrying member of the RPGA.

To most of the sycophantic wizards and witches, a kid who could perfectly recite the Thac0 progression for all the base classes in the three versions of Dungeons and Dragons (Classic, First Edition AD&D and Second Edition AD it was actually quite impressive since Thac0 wasn't ever published in Classic, and was rather a to-hit chart and the Thac0 had to be mathematically calculated instead) was something of a disappointment.

Harry Potter was also disappointed in the Wizarding World. He was hoping for a wondrous place like Waterdeep with magical towers and races, or Solace with its behemoth trees and aerial habitations (And hot barmaids with Frying Pan weapon proficiencies).

What he got was like a drunken ally like one could find in just about any urban area, full of passive racism and crazy people who insisted on shaking his hand. These people didn't even know what a Holy Avenger was, or what a Paladin did. You couldn't even buy a Cloak of Protection +1. However, it _was_ cool riding on a flying motorcycle. He happened to be a little upset that people were scandalized by the idea that he wanted boots of flying. Was that really too much to ask?

* * *

"Hagrid, have you ever wanted to be someone else?" Harry asked the hulking man at his side.

"I don' know Harry," he said uncomfortably. Even at the tender age of eleven, Harry could tell that the question was troubling the older man.

"I mean, not always, but just for a little while?"

"I'm not sure what you mean? Polyjuice is a mighty hard potion to brew," Hagrid replied.

"I don't mean really becoming someone else _physically_, although a polymorph potion is pretty awesome, (probably have to be at least a 12th level magic user to brew something like that)" Harry said. "But pretending to be someone else, just for a little while. I like it. It helps me feel like I'm not, well, you know, with my relatives."

"I ken see what yeh mean, Harry," the man said. "Yeh just play pretend?"

"Oh, no," Harry said. "It's much more than that." He held up a book with a brightly colored cover of some people stealing gems from a statue's eyes. "It's all in here. I really love it. We can play some time if you like?"

"Sure Harry," Hagrid said, not knowing that this would start a new addiction that would last for the rest of his life. Harry, for his part, just merrily skipped along as they gathered the rest of his things. Harry got a good bit of gold and spent it on things that matched certain items in a certain roleplaying core book. Soon, Harry had a wide selection of things that most people wouldn't be allowed to have, but money talks. Soon enough, he noticed a book store.

"Hello," he said to the nice man behind the counter. "Do you have the TSR 1143 Odyssey Adventure? I've been eying it for a while, but my uncle wouldn't let me have any money. But now I've got my own."

"Er, no, unfortunately," the owner said. "I'm not familiar with that."

"Oh," said the suddenly depressed Harry. "Could you order it?"

"I suppose…" the man said trailing off.

"It was supposed to be an homage to the Expedition to the Barrier Peaks," Harry said sadly. "Do you have dice?"

"Uh, no, we're a book shop," the man said.

"Oh, because most bookshops that I know carry them now," Harry commented, his tone implying that this was a substandard shop. "Do you know where I could get some? I wanted to get a set for my friend as a present. Everyone should have their own dice."

"Right, of course," the man said uncomfortably. "You might try the toy store."

Harry nodded and immediately trudged right over to the toy shop. Harry was not impressed by their selection. "Do you have anything other than D6s?"

"What?" asked the utterly confused shop owner.

"Dice, do you have anything besides D6?" Harry asked as if he was speaking to a very stupid person or a child with a full frontal lobotomy, or, as he would later learn, an inbred, pureblood Slytherin. At the continued look of confusion, Harry sighed and explained. "You say 'd' and the number of the sides. You've got six-sided dice, so they're d6s."

"No! Why would you want those?"

Harry rolled his eyes and sighed. "Maybe to play a _game_?"

"I could have some made," the man said reluctantly, "but I don't know what kind of game you'd play with those."

"Great! I need 50d4, 50d6, 50d8, 50d10, 50d12, and 100d20. I'd also like 25d100," Harry said. "Since it's a present, could you make them out of something nice? He shouldn't have ugly dice."

"Uh, sure, pay for them now and I'll have them owled to Hogwarts," the man said. Harry suppressed a wince at the conjugation of "owl" as a verb. Harry slipped him three gp.

"Actually, if you could send me some addition with the rest of that, it would be great," Harry said. "I know dice aren't that much gp. They're probably just a few cp each."

The shopkeeper nodded as if he knew what the boy was talking about. "Right, would you be willing to let me see an example of what you're looking for?"

Harry pulled out some dice, but snatched them back angrily when the man tried to touch them. "_Honestly_! Touching another man's dice! What kind of horrible person are you?"

The poor shopkeeper suddenly felt he had almost committed a terrible faux pas.

"I'm sorry, it won't happen again," he apologized.

"I should think not!" demanded the bespectacled boy.

"Right then, let me just get a good look then," the shopkeeper said. Harry held up his set of dice well out of reach. "Yes, thank you. I can assure you a pleasant product."

"Thank you," Harry said before walking out of the store.

* * *

Later, Harry bought a wand, was given an owl familiar (which he clearly didn't need, he was planning on being a divine caster, after all) and instructed to take the train to the school. He, being something of private sort, found an empty cabin and settled into reading the DMG for the bazillionth time.

His temporary fortress of solitude was interrupted by a redheaded boy who barged right in and showed off his rat.

"Why do you have a rat familiar?" Harry asked. "They can't talk, they can't pass messages and don't even give you any stat bonuses like a toad. A bonus against disease isn't really worth it."

"What's a stat bonus?" the boy asked. "And a toad better than a rat? I don't think so."

"I'd much rather have the HP from the +2 CON than a minor saving throw bonus against disease; most DMs don't even bother with them," Harry commented.

"Blimey, what's that mean?"

Harry just sighed the sigh of the long suffering. He was interrupted by a frizzy haired girl. "Has anyone seen a toad? Neville lost his."

Harry looked almost horrified. "He lost his familiar? I'll help you look. Gawd, it'd be horrid to lose such a great familiar."

Together they left the rat owner behind. Trevor, as the toad was known, was found on the furthest back. They caught the escapee and delivered him back to his owner.

"Whew, I'm glad we found him when we did," Harry said. He grinned at Neville. "Wouldn't do for you to lose 2 CON right off the bat."

"I'll hold on to him better this time," Neville said. "Trevor, you can't run off like that!"

Harry clapped him on the shoulder. "Have you done the familiar spell yet?"

Neville silently shook his head.

"We'll do it when we get to school," Harry assured him, blissfully unaware that such a thing did not exist in Hogwarts.

"I've never heard that spell before," the girl said. "What book did you read it in?"

"PHB," Harry said with a shrug. "Let's go back and talk."

* * *

Not long after they made it back to the cabin (where the rat boy was still sulking), a blond boy entered with his book ends.

"Where is Harry Potter?" the boy demanded with his hands on his hips and a sneer on his face. Harry raised an eyebrow and looked the boy over. Greased back Blonde hair, and two minions spaced behind him for decent aim past him.

"Hmmm…" Harry pondered. "Definitely Neutral Evil."

And with that, Harry dismissed him in his mind as unimportant. Blondie was not done with Harry though. He stomped in and tried to make trouble, having one of his minions grab Harry's shirt.

"I was not done talking to you," the boy commanded.

"Ah, you're basic gp or your HP kind of person. A common thug not even worthy to being a reoccurring villain, a minion of other minions, although you do seem to have hired a couple of level zero henchmen, so you've got a few gp to spend," Harry surmised. He then kicked the boy in the balls. "Stupid enough not to wear armor, though."

Blondie let out a sound of pain and suffering and after a moment it was interpreted as a command to attack by his henchmen. Harry, always practical, pulled out a wooden sword from his bag (conveniently expanded on the inside like a good bag of holding) and hit them both over the head in quick succession. It was enough to take care of any problems.

"Holy Smite, bitch," Harry said as he glared down the last of the trio. Harry gave henchmen one a kick for good measure and henchmen two blanched. "I think it's time for you to leave."

* * *

Harry was sorted into Gryffindor along with his friends Neville and Hermione. As luck would have it, Neville's birthday was only a day before his and Harry discovered he had much in common with the wise toad mage (for anyone who chose a toad for a familiar clearly had _at least_a 14 Wisdom). He was about to suggest a meeting with Hagrid for some good ole GNC (generation of new characters), but was interrupted by a guy who had an uncanny resemblance to Gary Gygax with a huge friggen beard. He soon learned the man was named Dumbledore, however.

"Welcome to Hogwarts, before we begin I would like to say a few words," the man announced. "Fitz radsoudly and wallop-canoe. Now with that out of the way, I would like to introduce our new Professor of History of Magic, Mr. Andrew Wells. Who came highly recommended by the Watcher's Council." The youngish blond man waved and Harry could instantly sense a kindred spirit. The Gygax clone gestured to his other side where an odd looking man dressed in purple sat. It took ten minutes for the applause to die down. "And due to some unforeseen events, our previous DADA professor will be on, er, well let's call it sabbatical this year."

Knowing looks and mentions of a curse were bandied about. "Instead, with us this year is Professor Quirrill who will fill in for the good professor during this time. And now, tuck in."

Food filled the tables and the hungry students devoured the vittles like packs of ravenous carrion feeders.

* * *

Not much happened for a few weeks. Harry, Hermione and Neville were all still getting settled into the routine. Then one day, right before Halloween, their defense professor noticed Harry reading a certain book.

"OH MY GAWD! That's the first edition DMG!" Andrew Wells exclaimed as if he had just witnessed Harry drawing the Sword from the Stone or drinking from the Holy Grail and choosing well.

"You know what this is?" Harry asked, as this was the first person to actually know what he had been talking about.

"I rarely get to play that edition," Andrew admitted. "I always want to, but other things keep getting in the way."

Harry looked up at his professor with surprise. "Really? Because Hermione, Neville, Hagrid and I were going to get together sometime soon."

"Do you need a DM?" Professor Wells asked. "I'm not quite Yoda, but I can pull a good campaign together."

"You are my favorite professor ever," Harry said, and he meant it too. "Now all I need is a place to play."

"Why not ask the house elves? They know every unused room in the castle," Professor Wells suggested. "AND they'll find you a private one that isn't in the Forbidden Corridor."

* * *

The house elves, (not real elves at all, but short gnome/goblin hybrids on psychotropic drugs), supplied a place that they thought was perfect. It was a room that could be whatever you needed. Harry needed a place to play D&D, and this was perfect. The room had a table, one specifically for the DM, complete with the screen, a full set of books, with all modules and expansions (including Council of Wyrms, because _really_, who _wouldn't_ want to play a dragon?), a kitchen with a fridge filled with Mountain Dew and Cheetos, and a complete rack of dice for all games. It was pretty much right next door to heaven for the young geek.

Everything was going perfect until Charms, when that rat-catcher from the train started making fun of his friend. Hermione Granger ran out of class crying. Harry tried to chase after her, but she went into the Girl's Bathroom and wouldn't come out. Sadly, Harry made his way back up to the Great Hall for the Halloween feast. There, the potions man stumbled into the room and announced that there was a troll in the dungeon.

Now, several things came to mind in this instance. The first was that Hermione was probably still in the girl's bathroom, and that bathroom was in the dungeons. The second was that this was obviously a side quest and therefore worth XP beyond the simple slaying of the beast. The third was that he was woefully unarmed. He still hadn't been able to get a Holy Avenger yet, but he knew that it was only a matter of time.

Harry shared a look with Neville as the students were being told to go back to their rooms for the duration of the crisis. Neville knew as well as Harry that Hermione was in danger. Clutching their wands in hand, they barreled head first into the side quest, fully intent on rescuing the damsel in distress and sharing the XP bonus for doing so.

When the two burst into the bathroom, they discovered exactly what Large size meant to an eleven year old human. Trolls were **BIG**.

"This is gonna be _a lot_of XP," Harry muttered to himself. Not quite understanding the statement, but impressed none the less, Neville nodded in agreement. Their stunned moment was interrupted as the troll started swinging its club towards the girls' stalls, smashing them in one brutal swath. Had Hermione been any taller, it would have been all over. Neville started throwing shards at it, but Harry chose instead to pull out his rattan longsword and charge. It didn't do much damage (Harry knew only fire and acid would really hurt them), but he did manage to get a tender spot right in the back of the knee, sending the troll bending backwards. Neville, not quite sure what to do, kept throwing things at it.

"Go for the eyes, Boo! Go for the eyes!" commanded a familiar voice. Neville turned to see Professor Wells and an unfamiliar blonde girl run into the bathroom. The girl jumped up a seemingly impossible height and stabbed two wooden sticks into the Troll's eyes, blinding it and causing it to flail around. She pulled them out and stabbed in the ears. The resulting crunch was something the PBH and the DMG never really talked about. It was rather disgusting to listen to, but it did the job and soon the troll fell to the ground dead.

"It shouldn't work that way," Harry protested. "It's clearly stated that trolls can only be permanently harmed by fire and acid."

"Ah, but that's for swamp trolls," Professor Wells pointed out. "This is clearly a bridge troll."

"Oh, well that explains it," Harry pondered. He reached down to help his friend up. "Hermione, are you okay?"

"I, I think so," she said, looking at the girl who saved them all. "What are you?"

"Hi, I'm Hannah, the Vampire Slayer," she said with a cheeky grin. Professor Wells was not as impressed.

"Wonderful," he said not meaning it, "another Slayer who can't keep a secret identity."

"I'm totally secret identity-girl, but they already saw," Hannah protested. Professor Wells looked down on her with a certain look. "Okay, fine, maybe I have been like spending too much time with Commander Buffy."

"A superhero needs their secret identity. What would Superman be without Clark Kent? What would Spider-man be without Peter Parker? What would Ms. Marvel be without Carol Danvers? It's important young lady! Okay, I know your punishment," he said. "You'll be attending us for every session and you'll be playing a monk."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she said, clearly blissfully ignorant.

The professor turned to Harry and Hermione and sighed. "See what I have to work with here? I made a whole parable about Voldemort as opposed to Sauron and then discovered she didn't know what I meant. It's so depressing."

"You have got to be the stupidest Watcher ever," Hanna said with a roll of her eyes.

"You've obviously never met Wesley. And I'm not stupid, I just have a diverse array of interests," Andrew muttered. It was about then that the other professors arrived. Wells nodded to the Headmaster. "All taken care of sir."

"No problems then?"

"Only for awards for bravery," Wells said. "Harry and Neville here helped a lot before I got here. They were worried about their friend."

"Would anyone else care to explain why you were down here? You should have alerted a professor," McGonagall said, slightly criticizing her students, but secretly proud of them.

"I didn't _only_ do it for the XP," Harry said with a shrug.

"Oh, yes," Dumbledore said. "Fifty points for each to Gryffindor. I'll thank you to head to bed. It is getting late."

"I'll escort them," Wells said.

"Fifty points for a bridge troll?" Harry asked as they meandered vaguely back to Gryffindor Tower. "We're never going to level up at this rate."

And that was how Hannah the Vampire Slayer got involved.

* * *

Two days later, they were building characters. Hagrid was there, as was Hannah. She did not look pleased, and he just looked confused.

"So, no costumes?" Hagrid asked.

"No, just imagination," Harry explained. "And dice."

"If we wore costumes, we'd be LARPers," Professor Wells clarified. Both he and Harry shivered at the thought. "Bunch of vampire worshiping _'I'm-not-a-monster-just-a-sexy-human-who-hangs-out-at-night'_morons. Just a bunch of silly people who'd never survive a real vampire attack."

"Right, so LARP bad," Hannah Abbot said irreverently. "Why do I have to play a monk? Can't I be a Slayer?"

Andrew and Harry shared a look of surprise. "Slayer/Monk?" asked Wells.

"But would Slayer be considered a class or a race? It is a Chosen, so maybe a little of a template?" Harry pondered.

Andrew shrugged. "Just write down Slayer for Race and Monk for class."

"Which class? Potions? DADA?" Neville asked, not understanding.

"No, which character class you are," Harry explained.

"I'm a Gryffindor wizard," Neville said.

"That's what you want to play?"

"Uh, sure," Neville said. He was instructed to write down Wizard for class and elf (for the nobility of Gryffindor) on his character sheet.

"Hagrid, what would you like to do?" Professor Wells asked the Groundskeeper.

"I really like what I already do," Hagrid said. "Care for the beasts and grounds of Hogwarts and the Forbidden Forest."

Harry and Andrew shared a look of pure glee and understanding. "Druid."

And so, Hagrid wrote down Half-Giant Druid on his sheet.

"What about you Harry?"

"I want to be a Paladin," he said. "I've got my old character sheet, it's RPGA legal."

Andrew Wells looked it over and agreed, it was a good 3rd level Paladin and didn't have anything overpowering. He also decided to start everyone at 3rd level to balance things out.

Hermione, during all of this, was reading all the books. She was about half way through them when she started having an idea. The scary thing was, she had only just cracked them and had instantly become the most dreaded player type in existence: the rules lawyer/munchkin multi-class.

She began muttering to herself, mention AC bonuses and words about Thac0. She pondered special rules for hand to hand combat with weapons and without. She muttered about GP allotments based on level and starting costs. Familiar benefits as opposed to companions.

"I'll be a Half Elf Cleric/Mage/Thief from Lantan who follows Gond, and I'll spend 1000gp to be a master at unarmed combat with three fighting style masteries," she said, handing over her completed sheet. "I also spent my weapon proficiencies on gunpowder weapons and my non-weapon proficiencies on chemistry, potion making and alchemy as well as various other related skills for my high intelligence. That should ensure that I have plenty of supplies and the capability of creating my own."

Andrew looked over the offered sheet and went pale. She had managed to make an almost invincible character if things went right, but her diversification could be a drawback depending on her rolls.

Hannah was assigned physical attributes and rolled above average, but not extreme mental stats. Her lowest was a 10, so that wasn't bad. She didn't really need the Charisma. Hagrid rolled well, with an assigned STR and CON, and ended up with a dryad as a companion. When questioned about how she would travel with them, Neville pointed out the Asian tradition of Bonsai, and Andrew Wells knew he was defeated. Then it was Neville's turn. Neville rolled, under supervision, mind you, 18, 18, 16, 17, 18, and 14. His toad familiar bumped his CON from an 17 to a 19 and being an elf, he had a bonus to INT and DEX. He was basically the Unkillable Wizard. He still kept CHA as his dump stat, however, at a lowly 14.

Hermione didn't roll quite as well, but high enough to have no problems with her spread.

The Weasley Twins, to the surprise of everyone, especially considering they weren't invited, rolled up identical Elven Thief/Mages. When pressed, they said they were just interested that there were so many people in a room that they didn't know existed.

"How did you do that?" Harry asked.

"I know," Andrew said. "I watched you roll. You used my dice. How in Buffy's name did you both roll the exact same stats?"

"I dunno," said Fred.

"All in the wrist," said George.

"It-it just shouldn't be possible," Harry said with a blank look. "Even your HP is the same."

"Okay, so you are all in the town of Shadowdale, the home of the wonderful wizard Elminster," Professor Wells said from behind his DM's screen. "Now, why don't you all say why you're there? Neville, why don't you go first?"

"Oh, uh, okay," the boy said hesitantly, unsure of being put on the spot. "How, how do I do that?"

"Just use your imagination," Harry told him. "Just picture it in your mind. It's a small city-state with a nominated lord. There's a mix of magical and non-magical people with different races of humans, elves, Halflings, Dwarves and Gnomes. There's a small cabin where Elminster lives with Storm Silverhand, one of the Seven Sisters. Now, you're a young wizard. Why are you there?"

"Two points to Gryffindor for the help, Harry," Andrew said with a grin before turning back to Neville. "So?"

"I-I guess I'm there to learn," Neville said. He glanced down at his character sheet. "I guess I'll go see if I can learn some new spells."

"Great, we'll get to that in just a bit," Andrew said. "Hannah?"

"I'm an errant monk from the East, trained in the physical, mystical and sorcerous arts," Hannah replied, hinting that she might have had some experience at this kind of thing in real life as well. "I'm looking for friends and companions to help in a quest to improve the lives of others. I don't have much for possessions, since I took a vow of poverty, but I'm fed well and not thirsty. All I need is loyal companions to be complete."

"Excellent description," Andrew said, beaming at his young Slayer. "Two points to Hufflepuff for your expression of House traits. Hermione?"

"I'm the best at what I do and I always want to be better," Hermione said. "I'm trying to find a way to channel magic while wearing armor and wielding weapons. The Unearthed Arcana says it is possible on page 32 paragraph 3, but it doesn't have any specific rules and says that it is a difficult ability to master. I'm here to learn how, seeing as there are others who have done so in Shadowdale."

"Really, Miss Granger? Where did you read that?" Professor Wells asked.

"In the Forgotten Realms supplement and addendum," she replied. "Page-"

"You don't have to quote the pages every time," Andrew cut her off with a smile. "Just be aware that others might not be as willing to give up their secrets as you are to seek them out. Hagrid?"

"Oh, well, I be lookin' fer a few new animals an' checkin' the place for nasty critters that be wrecking things," Hagrid said. "An' I'll be looking up fer some new interestin' critters like Fluffy."

Professor Wells gave the Groundskeeper a look of disapproval.

"Oh," Hadgrid said. "I wasn't supposed to say that."

The younger players perked up and filed that information away. Andrew decided to quickly change the subject.

"Fred? George?" he asked. "Why are you in Shadowdale?"

"I don't think-"

"That there is any specific reason-"

"So we're going to go to the bar-"

"And get drunk."

"And if there are any girls there-"

"We wanna _do_them."

Andrew gawked for a moment before rolling his dice to determine that, yes, the twins had gotten both drunk and lucky. And with that, it was time to continue on.

"And Hermione, as you walk into the bar, you are accosted by two drunken elves," Andrew said, nodding to the twins.

"Hello," said Hermione with a little hesitation.

"heyh, yher a haff-alph. Aye lhike ***hi**c* you," Fred slurred.

"Aye lhike yhou too! Hic!" George said. He glanced at Hermione's sheet: "What's you're Charisma?"

Hermione felt strangely like she was being oggled and pulled the sheet closer to her chest. "I'm going to keep an eye on them, but order some food. If they try anything I'll try to catch one in a sleeper hold."

"I put my arm over her shoulder," said the twins in unison.

"I attack," Hermione said flatly. Professor Wells did the rolls and soon both elves were in sleeper holds.

"Great, perfect success, but it's going to take a couple of rounds for them to fully pass out," Andrew reported. He turned to his young charge and nodded. "Hannah, you just saw a half-elf using unarmed martial arts. What do you do?"

"Uh-what? Oh, I guess I'll walk over and sit down at her table," Hannah said with some unsurity.

"Hello," said Hermione.

"Hello," said Hannah.

Then they both paused for a moment before turning to Professor Wells for more advice.

"Don't look at me! Interact!" he commanded.

"How?" Hannah asked.

"Talk to each other! I'm not going to put words in your mouths!"

Yeah, the first session went kinda like that.

* * *

It became a twice weekly event, and everyone attended except for a couple of times that Harry and Neville had detention with Professor Quirrel. There were some problems with other students, but the only big one was when a certain young mister Malfoy decided he deserved to be there. The others tried to protest, but Professor Wells' hands were tied.

"This is a school sponsored event," Prof. Wells said. "I can't stop any student from participating. Mr. Malfoy, what would you like to play?"

"What? I'm a wizard, of course," he stated with arrogance. He rolled up a character with stats barely able to cast spells, unable to fight and without any other special abilities. He was a wizard with delusions of adequacy, so basically he was playing himself.

"Well, Elminster walks in and says: 'Ho! Young lad! Yee canna be accosting yon banker with such an intent in this village,' and steps between you and the banker," Professor Wells told the blond wizard.

"What? This red robed guy intends to stop me? Well, then I cast the killing curse at him!" Malfoy said. He sneered at the others' gasps. Harry's eyes widened at the audacity. "_Please_, It's only a game!"

"Unfortunately, your character doesn't know the killing curse," Andrew replied.

"What curses do I know?"

"The first level ones," Prof. Wells replied, pointing to the boy's character sheet.

"Then I cast Magic Missile, that sounds like a good one," Malfoy said.

"Roll your damage, okay, you do two damage," Andrew said.

"Is he dead?"

"No, not even remotely," Andrew replied.

"Well, then I cast it again," Malfoy said.

"He counters your spell with a Shield spell," Andrew replied.

"Oh? Then I stab him with my dagger," Malfoy said. "It's a magical dagger, so it's okay."

"You go to stab Elminster and the guards kill you," Andrew said. "Wait, how did you get a magic dagger?"

"How? They're just stupid muggles!"

"You had a first level wizard with one hit point because you rolled poorly," Professor Wells pointed out. "Fifth level fighters with their strength do a minimum of three points of damage. You died."

"Well, then I make a new wizard," Malfoy said. And he did, and his second was remarkably similar to his first except that his intelligence was actually lower. This one tried to take revenge for the first one to die and predictably died. So did the third and the fourth and the fifth and the forty-ninth.

"Look, Malfoy, you're doing it wrong," Harry said, taking pity on the boy. Malfoy looked like he was going to hex him, but Harry put up his hands to forestall violence. "Malfoy, would you win against Dumbledore in a duel? Not eventually, right now, at eleven years old."

"What? Of course, er-" Draco had to admit that, no, he would not win against Dumbledore in a duel.

"That's what you're doing," Harry explained. "You're attacking the most powerful wizard in the world with a first year student."

"... … … oh."

He sneered. "So I don't want to play a first year."

"You have to play to get more powerful, it's how it works," Andrew said. "You can't just start off massively powerful."

Malfoy decided it wasn't that much fun anymore and left.

* * *

"Okay, as you travel through the pass, you notice a number of earthen pillars," Andrew said.

"I, er, I use my Druid talents to tell what they are," Hagrid said.

"Termite hills," Andrew replied. Hermione's face lit up like it was Christmas, her birthday and her wedding day all at once.

"Neville!" she said with a grin. "Cast Burning Hands at the termite colonies!"

"What?" asked Neville and Andrew in unison. Hermione just nodded and coaxed him along.

"Uh, okay," the young wizard said and dutifully cast a fire spell on the termites.

"Why did you have him do that?" Andrew asked. "You're just killing non-hostile creatures! You're supposed to be Good!"

"Chaotic Good, thank you very much," Hermione said. "And according to the DMG, page 243, every creature you kill has to grant at least one XP. There are thousands to millions of termites in a colony."

"Uh, let me see that," Andrew said, flipping to the page. And yes, he was required to give at least one XP for every creature killed. And that was how Neville got to level 9 in one session.

* * *

Life was good for Harry the Paladin. He thought magic school would be a little difficult at first, but he found himself to be rather talented in a number of ways. He excelled at Potions and Transfiguration (or Alteration/Transmutation and Conjuration as he was wont to call it) like his parents and did fairly well in Charms (or Abjurations and Enchantments), but wasn't doing so well in History or Astronomy.

Eventually, though, his friends went home for the holidays and Harry ended up in the castle mostly alone. He had been given a Cloak of Invisibility as a gift, something that had apparently belonged to his father and had taken to exploring the castle. Eventually he came across a strange enchanted mirror.

"What do you see?" asked a voice from behind him. Harry jumped and looked behind him. The Headmaster twinkled down at him for a moment before glancing at the mirror.

"Me and my friends, in a few years," Harry said. And there he was in gleaming armor, a Holy Avenger in each hand, wading his way through an army of orcs with his companions. They were older, late teens, early twenties and seemed to be at the height of their power. A gleaming holy symbol of a redheaded woman's face shown from about his neck, warding off the evil undead the orcish clerics had called up to battle.

"Many people have gone mad looking at his mirror," Dumbledore said.

"That's okay, I think I passed my save verses spell."

* * *

Harry and the headmaster talked a while longer before the headmaster left, reminding that even if classes weren't in session, he should probably be getting back to bed. Harry nodded and gathered up his things. As he did so, he reached into his pocket and found a bright red stone with twelve perfect sides. It was about the size of his fist.

"Wow, I'll have to thank the Prof for the D12 later," Harry said to himself. With a grin of anticipation, Harry tucked the Philosopher's Stone into his dicebag and headed back to Gryffindor Tower.

Dumbledore should have known that letting a first level character get his hands on an Artifact was a bad idea.

* * *

When classes resumed, they went back to work. Harry continued to dislike DADA even as he excelled in his ability. There was just something about Professor Quirrel that was just off. Something wasn't right. Harry continued to feel pain in his scar as the class progressed. Somewhere in his mine, Harry pondered if this was his "Detect Evil" finally kicking in. Truth be told, it wasn't that far off.

"Okay, how was everyone's break?" Prof. Wells asked his players/students.

"My family went to France," Hermione said. "I got a few more gamebooks."

"Staked three vamps solo and raided three demon nests with Senior Vi," Hannah supplied. "Got to keep the axe I found too. Mom's so proud."

"Gran and Uncle Al and I went to Diagon Alley," Neville said. "We didn't do much else."

"I met a nice chappie at a pub," Hagrid said. "Knew a lot 'bout Dragons, he did."

Everyone eyed him suspiciously since by his tone, there was obviously more to the story than that, but they weren't about to press him on the subject.

"We played Quidditch and made elf costumes," the twins said. "Drunken elf costumes!"

"Director Harris and I watched Babylon 5 again," Professor Wells said. "We wanted Willow to join us, but the White Witch was a little busy. How about you Harry?"

"I got a Cloak of Invisibility and a giant red d12," Harry said with a grin that looked like the cat that caught the canary. "I'll show you when we get into the Room."

Soon enough, they were getting set up. As always, the Room of Requirement filled itself to be perfectly set for the specific needs of the opener. Usually, this meant that it was filled with every D&D supplement, core book and errata ever written. This time, however, as Harry opened it, was different.

The Players walked in, Hannah, Harry, Hermione, Hagrid, Fred, George and Neville found themselves alone in a room.

"Professor Wells?" Harry asked.

"Yes, Harry?" replied the professor. It seemed to come from the Room itself, but have no specific spot of origin.

"Where are you?" Harry asked.

"I'm right here," Wells replied.

"No," Hermione said. "No, Professor, you're not."

The students and caretaker looked around at the room. There wasn't anything resembling the usual supply or architecture of the Room, but it seemed to be made of wood with an earthen floor. It also stank to high heaven. The only thing Harry could compare it to was the one time his aunt had ordered natural fertilizer that had arrived a little too fresh.

"I seem to be aware of everything you're doing," Andrew said. "Oh my gawd! This must be what the Enterprise felt when she was going sentient!"

"This is hardly the time to be talking about Star Trek!" Hermione chided. "Room, open the door!"

The Room didn't.

"Uh, hey, we've got stuff with our names on them," Neville said, pointing to a gathering of supplies in one corner. Harry and Hermione recognized the gear instantly.

"These are the things for our characters," Hermione said, holding up a pair of black powder pistols and a rifle that looked like it would fit right in with the American War of Independence.

Harry pulled up a Holy Symbol of Sune. "Uh, can anybody else feel the power coming off this thing?"

"Yes," Hermione said, pulling up her own Gondite holy symbol.

"Oi! We're our costumes!" Fred, or George said as they looked themselves over. They still kept their red hair and freckles, but their ears were sharply pointed and their eyes turned a distinct almond shape. They had lost a few inches of height, but both could feel an extra spring in their step. They glanced over to where Neville was staring off into space. "Longbottom? You alright?"

Their words seemed to shake the Gryffindor boy out of his daze and he chuckled. "You can feel it too, can't you?"

Hermione and the Twins nodded.

"Feel what?" Hannah asked. Seemingly without being noticed, she had stripped down and slid into her monk's outfit which seemed like a second skin. It felt...right.

"Magic," Neville said with a strange reverence. "It's...it's everywhere."

"But it's always everywhere," Hannah said.

"No," George said. "It's never been like this. We always used it...but this? We're a part of magic and it's a part of us."

The other three magic users nodded in agreement.

"That's like how I feel," Harry said as he pulled on his chain greaves. "It's like I'm finally complete."

"I feel that too," Hermione said. "I feel both of them. Gond and...Mystra? Professor Wells! What's happening?"

He didn't answer.

"Professor!"

Nothing.

And that was when some of them started to panic. Specifically, Hagrid and Neville.

"Gran's gonna kill me," Neville said. "I've got Trevor and my wand, but what if they can't find us? She's not gonna like it that I got stuck in some room."

"Dumbledore'll find us," Hagrid said. "Good man, Dumbledore. Best wizard ever. He'll know what to do."

"But what if he can't?" Neville asked. He turned on Harry. "You said it was just for pretend. You never said these things really happened!"

"Well, normally they don't," Harry said as he donned his armor.

"Right now, we're stuck," Hannah said. "And where ever we are, the first rule of being stuck in another dimension is to find out where you are in relation to Earth, if possible."

"There are rules about this kind of thing?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah, in Slayer School," Hannah said. "It's a rule put in after putting together the sheer number of times the Scoobies and the Fang Gang have been captured or trapped in other dimensions. Also, since the portal closed behind us, you can be sure the Key wasn't used."

"What's the Key?"

"Dimensional Anthropomorphic Ward of iNfinit," Hannah explained. "The Acronym is a little shaky, but what can you expect when Director Harris decided on it?"

"So the Key's a person?" Harry asked.

"Oh, yeah, Dawn's really nice," Hannah said.

"So, getting back to us being stuck in a room somewhere other than Hogwarts..." Hermione prompted.

"Yes, I was wondering that myself," said an older, unfamiliar voice. The Hogwarts Crew spun around to see a man with a long white beard wearing bright red robes who was decidedly NOT Dumbledore. "I have to admit, I was surprised to hear children's voices coming from my broom closet at this time of night."

"OH MY GAWD!" Harry screamed, recognizing the man. "You're ELMINSTER!"

"Oh?" the man said. "Well, I always suspected that was the case, but it's nice to have a second opinion on the matter."

Harry fainted and fell to the stone floor with a loud clang as his armor hit.

"Odd, that kind of thing usually only happens after I cast a spell," the old man said. "Now, good children and older gentleman, do bring your friend into my more hospitable quarters and explain exactly how you got here."

* * *

One explanation later:

"Oh, dear," Elminster said, pulling out an obscurely large pipe and lighting it up.

"You shouldn't smoke," Hermione chided. "It's bad for your health."

"My dear girl, when one achieves my great age, one may do with one's self what one wishes," He said in a grandfatherly tone. "And I wish for a smoke. Now then, how best to get you back to Earth?"

* * *

_Where I was going with this? Well, I wrote this much and realized I wanted a much more serious Harry as opposed to uber-geek Harry. While this was fun to write, I didn't like the end result and transformed it from Harry's point of view to Hanna and Andrew's PoV. Harry won't be a geek at first, and will have a bit of a transformation, but Hermione will still be a munchkin/rules lawyer.  
__  
And yes, I know some of the rules aren't quite right, but this was a mash up of several different versions so I could make the jokes. Some will be a bit esoteric if you haven't played them. The really esoteric jokes I left out like trying to grapple in 3__rd__edition. That's a joke._

_I don't own Harry Potter, Buffy or Dungeons and Dragons._


	7. I don't own Captain America

**A Confrontation**

* * *

"Ah, Herr Keptain, so good ovv yhou to yoin us," said the regal voice from the shadows. "I see Ze Baron has not caused yhou undue delay, hmm?"

At the mention of the Nazi super-agent, Captain America stood up tall, bringing his shield in front of him in a position that could easily shift from defense to offense. "A delay is just a delay. I'm here for Hitler and the Red Skull! Where are they?"

"Ah, but mein Fuhrer is unavailable at zis time, so yhou shall haff to deal vid me first," the man said as he stepped out of the shadows. He was handsome, tall, with blond hair and a sharp face. He bore none of the musculature that most other Hydra agents developed; instead he was thin, lithe. In his hand he held a thin piece of wood, carved and crafted with consummate care and precision. "Von should not trifle in ze affairs of Visards, herr Keptain, for ve are subtle and quick to ahnger."

Captain America knew the strange stick was a danger, so dodged the green beam and was glad that he did so, as the wall behind him burst into flames. Other beams of light, commanded by short phrases flew from the wand. A quick snap of his wrist sent the shield flying as the Captain pulled out his pistol and fired, using the ricochets of the shield as cover for the sound. Had he been up against any other opponent, this would have no doubt worked, but this self-styled wizard was more aware of his surroundings, and dodged the bullets. However, he was not situationally aware enough to dodge the shield that bounced off the corner of the room, hit the table, bounced off another wall, hit the floor, ricocheted to the ceiling, off the floor again to hit the wizard in the back of the knees, sending the next spell flying far above the Captain's head.

"Yhou dare strike Gellert Grindlewald? Yhou shall pay for your insolence!" snarled a minion who had just arrived down the hallway at the sound of the battle. Captain America leapt up, rolled in the air away from the light flying from the stick, to land next to the first attacker. Grindlewald cast some sort of spell on his legs, removing the damage the Captain just caused as the American hefted his shield once more to block the next spell. Captain America was cornered, stuck in a room with two of the strangely dressed fascists.

"Yhou fight vell for a muggle, Herr Keptain," Grindlewald said with a smirk. "A shame zat zis shall all come to naught." He made a dramatic spin with his arms out stretched. "Look upon me, Herr Keptain. I am Nietzsche's _Ubermensche_: the Superman. I am superior to ozers ovv yhour kind. I am ze pinnacle of ze human spirit! I am capable of sings yhour kind is incapable of even imagining!"

"You're a loony, you crazy Kraut," Cap commented, throwing the shield once more, diving across the room as it spun and bounced, giving him cover as he moved only to fly into his hand on the other side of the room.

"You are trapped! Zere is no escape!" Grindlewald replied. "Yhou are like ze neanderthal, a Darwinian failure."

His monologue was cut off by three short shots from a pistol. Grindlewald turned to see another red and blue clad American standing over Grindlewald's fallen minion. The kid looked at Cap and shrugged with a little smirk.

"Ja, I haff forgotten about ze sidekick," Grindlewald admitted.

"Everybody always forgets about me," Bucky said as he spun and fired three shots at the wizard, only to have them blocked by some kind of invisible shield. The bullets flew straight and true, but slowed as if flying through sludge until they stopped all together, inches from the man's body. "Damn. I hate it when that happens."

Cap stood tall, pointing at the wizard. "There's no escape Grindlewald. I'm sure the OSS would love to know all your little tricks. You can come easy, or you can come hard!"

"Ah, but it iz not ze time, Herr Keptain," Grindlewald said with a smirk. The whole complex started to shake and the smirk widened into a full blown maniacal grin. "It seems Herr Shmidt was successful. Ze vorld shall be mine, Herr Keptain, even if I must destroy it first! It iz, after all, for ze Greater Good."

He seemed to concentrate, but glanced up angrily.

"Albus," he growled. Grindlewald's eyes flashed with anger as he spoke, the name provoking something primal inside his mind.

"Yes, Gellert," a man said, stepping into the room. He was dressed in a similar style to Grindlewald, but bore none of the same designs, the prominent Triangle-Circle-Line image distinctly missing. "I got here as soon as I heard you were here."

"I see yhou haff put up ze vards in an attempt to prevent my escape," Grindlewald said, turning towards the man. "I vill haff to kill yhou, old friend."

His wand snapped up to point at the long bearded man, but he was too slow, a red beam of light flying at him before he could return fire. The beam sent Grindlewald flying backwards, curseing loudly in German. Captain America slipped behind the man, brought up his shield, and let the man's head fly into it. Gellert Grindlewald fell to the ground out cold. The long bearded man walked over and nodded his thanks.

"No problem," Cap replied. "He called you a friend."

"Yes, we were once," Albus Dumbledore replied. "But his involvement in my sister's death took care of that relationship."

"What are you going to do now?"

"Gellert will be imprisoned in the very prison he built for me," Albus said sadly. "You'd best go, the Red Skill is nearly at the missile platform."

"Thanks!" Bucky said with a lopsided grin.

"We'll have to do this again some time," Captain America said.

Just as they were about to leave, Albus and the unconscious body of Grindlewald vanished with a loud popping sound. Bucky gaped for a moment before scratching his head.

"Damn, I wish we had teleporting tech," the sidekick grumbled.

"No time for that now! We've got to stop the Red Skull!"

* * *

I couldn't get this out of my head. There aren't too many HP fics based in the Second World War era, and I think that's a shame. I know that Albus should have obliviated them, but it didn't happen that way as I was writing it. We can just pretend someone got to them later. Oh, and I know that I got the Ubermensche a bit wrong, but that was written in a way so that Grindlewald didn't really understand and therefore got it a bit wrong.


	8. Harry the Punisher

_This was started because someone, quite flippantly I might add, told me my Batman/Harry Potter story was crap because Harry let the Death Eaters live. He or she said that he'd only respect a Punisher story. Well, this is my answer to that, with a few other things thrown in, none of which I own. People need to know that the Punisher and Batman are two very different characters, and more than just killing divides them._

* * *

"Dobby, Kreature, if things get bad, you know what to do," Harry said the day before they were going to sneak into the Ministry. The two house elves nodded and agreed that they understood Harry's orders.

Well, things did go bad. Really bad. Yaxley showed up clutching Hermione's arm and the hide out was open for all to see. The man vanished almost as soon as he arrived, but they didn't have time to gather their things and escape. Holed up inside Grimmald Place, the Death Eaters or "Ministry Squads" chose to assault from outside and within. Ron fell first, a curse from a window that the boy was just too close to. Hermione was next, but the strange cutting curse hit her leg and the deep slice was giving the rug a richer color. Harry stopped the bleeding, but he wasn't that skilled on being the healer in a patient/healer relationship.

Dobby and Kreature decided that was bad enough. Together they activated the failsafe plan.

* * *

A second later, a cage of lightning appeared around Harry and Hermione, with Ron's dead or unconscious body in his hands. The next second, the three were gone.

Orion Black was not used to having surprises in his home. The last time the Black family had a surprise, Sirius was sent to Griffindor and that had been more than enough for a life time. It had only been two years, and his wife still hadn't gotten over it. When the sphere of lightning appeared in his study with three naked people it was a rather unpleasant surprise.

A menacing, but rather gangly young man stood up.

"Your clothes," he said, "give them to me."

An attempt to draw his wand earned Orion Black a belt in the gob, sending him flying backwards into the wall, sending the assembled ancestors flying from their portraits. The young man, obviously a quidditch player by his musculature, grabbed the wand out of the elder man's grasp with one hand while shoving him to the floor with the other.

"Your clothes," he repeated, "give them to me."

Now held at wand-point, Orion Black wondered why the wards hadn't warned him, and further more, wondered why Kreature wasn't doing anything. The House Elf just stood there bowing to the young man, not even attempting to stand up for his master. The young man looked familiar, but that lightning bolt scar was odd. He had a Black nose and cheekbones (Harry's paternal grandmother was a Black according to cannon), and the Potter jaw and hair, but the eyes and the scar were strange, unfamiliar and yet were his most striking features. Orion noted as he shrugged off his robes that those cold eyes were exactly the shade of the Killing Curse.

The young man covered his companions, then shrugged on the black (in both color and crest) robes before vanishing almost as soon as he arrived.

* * *

Ron was dead. Hermione might as well have been, now stuck in the Spell Damage ward at a French magical hospital. She was not expected to recover any time soon. The specific spell cast was a cutting curse developed by one of Grindlewald's enforcers that paralyzed the body if magical first aid was given. It was Harry's own fault that Hermione was in her current state. And now it was all for nothing. The plan had failed. Even the back up plan had failed.

His robes were black Hungarian Horntail leather that allowed for a maximum of movement and protection from spells. Harry slew it himself and could attest to its impenetrable hide. As a chest plate, Harry wore a skull, bright white against the leather's ebony hue.

Harry arrived in the dead of night and helped himself to several large caches of weapons and explosive devices that a few terrorist organizations had stored in Northern Ireland. He took from both sides (Catholic and Protestant), seeking to limit the impact of his entrance into the conflicts. He had other concerns than muggles. The society that allowed Tom Riddle to rise to power not once, but twice, would soon face the full ire of a man left with nothing but revenge.

Harry looked in the mirror. He traced the scar on his forehead. It was such a prominent feature of his existence, and now he was in a place where none recognized him. Had he been younger and less jaded, this would have been a blessing, a chance to start over as his own person. But Harry was older and "jaded" was rather too nice a term for what Harry had been through. His scar had always been a symbol, a way for people to know it was him. But this time, it was under his control. He was the one who would determine its meaning. Whereas Voldemort chose to have his symbol flaring above the sites of his raids, Harry's symbol would not be a Skull giving fellatio to a snake. Harry understood the fear that skulls brought. They were bare, a reminder of what was left when the flesh rotted away.

He stared at himself in the mirror once more, before commanding the lights to turn off with a snap of his fingers. With the light gone, all that reflected in the silvery glass was a skull, white as bleached bone, with a single lightning bolt above one eye.

It symbolized the punishment for crimes both past and yet to come.

* * *

Minutes before closing time, Harry Potter walked into Borgan & Burkes and cast a silent bodybind on the men behind the counter. He set a grenade on the counter and pulled the pin, apparating out to the street as soon as the pin was free.

He never even said a word as he walked away, the shop exploding behind him. Ignoring the noise, he pulled a shotgun from his robes, aimed absently at the hags selling trinkets made of intelligent creatures and the downtrodden purebloods that had the ancestry, but not the money. They died easily. Curses began to fly, and shields were put up. Shields were intended to protect a wizard from Spells with no actually weight behind them, or perhaps small banished objects; not, however, high velocity shards of lead. The magically expanded magazine allowed Harry to continue firing without issue, each cocking of the shotgun rolling another shell into the chamber as the previous one flew out onto the street. The spell, one Hermione had created, allowed for personal noises to be silenced while all other noises could still be heard, perfect for sneaking through the halls of Hogwarts, or mowing a path through Knockturn Alley. The noise was almost negligible due to the silencing charm Harry cast on the gun. Hags and old trollish-men screamed, and Harry heard everyone, but comparatively the gun in his hands made no sound at all as he walked down the cobbled alley. Charms and Curses continued to fly as he wandered through the streets, spreading gore and mayhem with every blast of his weapon. They attempted to catch him from surprise, but his finely honed paranoia and battle sense built up over six years of Hogwarts and ten before that being chased and beaten by his cousin allowed Harry to avoid all. Occasionally he allowed a stunner or a minor cutting curse to land, but the armored robes shrugged them off, occasionally even reflecting them back at the caster.

Eventually, a larger group took cover behind a series of crates, peeking out only to send another spell his way. Harry reached into a pocket, pulled the pin and tossed the small pineapple grenade at the crates. The crates, filled with potion supplies that were less than legal or ethical, splattered over the survivors of the blast, having a series of effects that were as painful as they were permanent. The unintended combination of ingredients warped and reshaped the victims into something that couldn't be recognized as human and more resembling some Lovecraftian eldritch horror that screamed to be put out of its misery. Harry ignored it as he walked by.

Harry glanced around once the resistance seemed to fade away. He wasn't pleased with himself, but it had to be done.

Pulling out a can of spray paint, he wrote a short declaration of war.

"I'm coming for you, Tom Riddle."

He signed it simply as "the Punisher."

He walked back down the alleyway, tossing in a grenade every so often to ensure that the businesses couldn't just reopen with a few Scourgify charms. Satisfied with his world, Harry apparated out of the alley to a street not far away. Pulling out some British Pounds, he climbed aboard a bus, traveling four stops before getting off, apparating away to another bus stop, where he then again traveled some distance. It would be nearly impossible for someone to find him after the obfuscation of his escape.

* * *

The Aurors arrived to see the carnage and gasped in horror. None of them had seen this kind of damage done since the war with Grindlewald. Even the Death Eater attacks weren't this horrific, as killing curses preserved the corpses perfectly, and cutting curses were rather clean, aside from the blood. Gore was everywhere. What was left resembled more raw hamburger than people. In many cases it was impossible to tell what body-part belonged to which victim. More than one Auror lost their lunch that day.

They traced the last apparation out, but were lost in muggle London. There weren't any magical signatures in the area, so they weren't able to do anything about the situation. It was a dead-end until an old man came forward.

Olivander nodded to the aurors before turning to Moody, who was not in a pleased mood.

"I believe the boy who did this just bought a wand from me," the wandmaker stated flatly.

"What was his name?" Mad Eye Moody asked. "Was he a Death Eater?"

"He didn't say, but he had the look of both a Potter and a Black in his face," the old wandmaker replied. "His hair was the classic dark, unruly mop that most Potters have. But there were two things that stood out: here, on his brow, was the most curious scar, shaped like a lightning bolt. And his eyes...green, so bright and yet so cold."

"Did he say anything else?"

"He said that he was going to clean up Albus' mess. Even so, I don't think he was a Death Eater," Olivander replied. "This is what happened..."

* * *

It was the shortest day of the year when he appeared in Diagon Alley for the first time. He walked with purpose into one of the oldest institutions of Wizarding Britain. Olivander was busy in the back of his shop, working hard on his new wands when he heard the chime sound. The Winter Solstice, or Yule, as most wizards and witches called it, was not the busiest time for the wandmaker, so having a visitor at the very moment of sunset was a surprise. The man was young, tall and cold inside. Those green eyes that seemed to glimmer in the fey lights of the shop would haunt the old man for years.

"I need a wand," the man said flatly.

"Then you have come to the right place," Olivander replied, motioning him in. "I do not recognize you, although you have the look of both a Potter and a Black about you. But those eyes..." Olivander paused and took a step closer, looking up into the taller man's eyes, "I have seen those eyes before."

"Holly with a Phoenix core," the man said in the same flat tone. Intrigued by the man's request, he handed over the requested wand only to find it was a perfect fit. Seven galleons dropped into the old wandmaker's hand.

"An interesting choice," the old man commented as he glanced up at the young man's forehead. "May I ask why you are requesting such an unusual wand?"

The man traced the scar absently, like an old friend. "You've only made two wands with feathers from that phoenix. The other one gave me this on the day he murdered my parents."

"Tell Dumbledore I'm cleaning up the mess he made." The young man turned towards the door and paused. He glanced back over his shoulder at the wandmaker and seemed to smirk coldly. "You can expect great things from me, Mister Olivander. Terrible, but great."

And then he was gone.

* * *

"-And then he was gone," Olivander finished.

"Any noticable marks or traits?" Moody inquired.

"Well, there was one aside from the scar," Olivander replied. "His robes, black dragon scale if I'm not mistaken, were more like an overcoat and the robes he wore under those seemed to have some white symbol on them. I couldn't get a clear look."

Moody, clearly displeased by the lack of precise description, grunted. "Would you be willing to give the memory for the investigation?"

"Would a duplicate do?"

Moody shrugged noncommittally. The motion prompted the old wandmaker to raise an eyebrow, but he still pulled out the silvery threads of memory, then seemed to split and double them, until one set was in a small glass vial. Handing it over to him, Olivander gave the auror a little bow.

"Now if you'll excuse me, I must be getting back to my wands," the old man replied before shuffling off in the direction of his shop.

"Oh, just one more thing," Moody said. "What was the wand again?"

"Holly, eleven inches, Phoenix core, very nice and supple," Olivander replied before turning once more.

"And another thing," Moody said, cutting the older man off. "Who owned that other wand, the one the perp said killed his family?"

"A young man by the name of Tom Riddle, if I'm not mistaken, and I do remember every wand I've ever sold," Olivander said before shuffling off as fast as he could to prevent further interruptions of his wandcrafting.

* * *

Harry Potter sat in his Wizarding Tent in Brighton. The cold winter air couldn't get inside, but he felt chilled, all the same. He had brutally murdered almost 50 people and strangely, he didn't have too much of a problem with it. He knew, intellectually, that what he did was wrong, but emotionally he felt fulfilled by his actions. He knew, inside, that it was the right thing to do; that it _had_ to be done. The only way to remove the problem was to cut right to the root of the disturbance. Tom Riddle was the one who had to go. Voldemort, the Dark Lord, or what ever he wanted to be called, was the most visible root in the Wizarding world. He was the symptom, not the problem itself. It was something that had been building for years, centuries even, and the only solution was total eradication. A scorched earth policy.

Harry thought back to what he had learned about beating disease and such back before Hogwarts fell. There was that line he heard when dealing with the Dragon Pox epidemic: you don't toss potions at anything that moved, you shove them down the throats of the infected and those around the infected. Well, the Death Eater mentality was an epidemic, and Harry decided that his twelve gauge pills were just what the doctor ordered.

But Harry Potter knew he was going to need help. He might get shot, or he might get cursed. He was not going to be able to just walk into St. Mungo's and get healed up. He would need a steady supply of potions and counter curses. He was going to need a support team.

* * *

Spinner's End was the poor part of town. While a few people would venture into the larger, more wealthy part of town, the people from the more wealthy part of town rarely, if ever, ventured into Spinner's End. With the exception of one individual who went by the name of Lily Evans. She was brilliant, with bright red hair and green eyes, just about to go into her third year at Hogwarts. The reason she went into Spinner's End was that she had one friend, a poor half-blood boy by the name of Severus Snape.

Lily Evans realized something was wrong the moment she turned the corner to where she could see the Snape house. It was small, old, and a bit rundown, having been in Severus' father's family for a long, long time, although it was never very fancy. However, she had never seen the gate hanging off its hinges. There was a hole punched through the front door by some great force, although Lily doubted it was a blasting hex, as the blast patterns didn't seem to add up. She was, after all, the most brilliant with of her age, and she had done several experiments on curses and hexes and their effects.

While the house was rarely in perfect condition, it had always been clean when she had visited. Now, walking inside, tables were over turned, chairs shattered into pieces, crockery shards spread across the kitchen floor, and the cast iron stove uprooted from its moorings and the pieces scattered across the room.

Lily was very worried for her friend. Running back out, she went right to her parents and asked them to call the police.

* * *

Thirteen year old Severus Snape awoke groggily. Whatever it was that happened to him left him exhausted and weary, his lungs seemingly too weak to give him air.

"Good, Snape, you're awake," a voice said. It was a tinge familiar, but older, different and whatever pieces he was trying to put together slipped away as he groaned, the pain of moving his muscles greater than the puzzle he was attempting to complete in his mind.

"Where-where am I?" the boy asked.

"Where you are doesn't matter right now," the voice said. Severus opened his eyes and glanced around. He was sitting in a chair, bound to the chair really, in a dark room, only the bright light above his head allowing him to see. Someone was walking outside the light, but he could only see black leather boots and dark pants under the edge of the man's robes. Robes and a muggle light bulb. It didn't make sense.

"What matters," the man began again, "is that you want to help Lily Evans."

"What did you do to Lily?" Snape demanded, his weak arms struggling against the bonds to no avail.

"_I _did nothing," the man said. "However there are those who can, and will, harm her. You have a chance to prevent that." The man paused a moment. "I need a potioner, and you are destined to be among the best, _if_, that is, you can keep your ego in check. Swear yourself to me, and you shall be given everything you need to be the best. Swear yourself to me, and to never join the slaves of that fiend Riddle, and you shall be the best."

The gears in Severus's mind began to turn. This man knew him, knew of his ambition, him, an unimportant half-blood from the poor part of town. He knew of Lily, of how dangerous it was for her in this time of attacks on muggleborns. Lily stood out too much, but Lily, Lily would always stand out, it was her nature for all to take notice of her. She stood in beams of sunlight, while he, himself hid in the shadows. His choice was clear, but he had questions.

"Who is Riddle?"

"Ah, a wise question," the man said from the depths of the shadows. "He is a half-blood, like ourselves, a descendant from Slytherin through his poor, near-squib mother. He was recruited by Albus Dumbledore himself. Tom Riddle was ambitious, eventually became prefect and even Head Boy, only to vanish some few years after graduation. He returned, calling himself by an acronym of his own name, Tom Marvolo Riddle had become 'I am Lord Voldemort' and-"

"The Dark Lord?" Severus asked in surprise and more than a little bit of fear.

"Yes, the precious little Dark Lord all those purebloods look up to," the man spat with derision. The man's foot steps were sharp and even as he circled around the second year student who sat terrified in his chair. "He has taken everything from me, pushed me beyond reason." The man paused for a long moment. Severus heard the grinding of teeth and something in the man's silence made him shiver. "So I will take everything from him," he finished in a quieter, colder voice.

"But Lucius said-"

"Do you believe him? Lucius Malfoy? He is as ambitious in his own way as you are in yours," the man said. "But he just wants power and cares little how he gets it. He will use you and make you think it's your own choice; then, should your usefulness to him fade, he would toss you aside without a care. I, at least, am honest of my goals."

"But why me?" Severus asked, looking ever so small in the chair.

"You have potential, potential that will be snuffed out should you go dark," the man replied, stepping into the light for the first time. "Following a creature like Riddle could only spell your doom. But I can give you power and respect, an education like no other."

Snape stared into the face of the man who now towered over him and was at a complete loss at what to think.

* * *

"Albus," Moody said through the Floo. "We need to talk."

"By all means, come through," the Headmaster of Hogwarts said to the one-eyed glowing green head in the fireplace. A moment later it was replaced by Moody's physical form. Albus looked up from his desk. "Alistor, whatever seems to be the problem? I'm preparing for the next school year."

"Tom Riddle, who was he?" Moody snapped. Albus seemed so old at the sound of that name.

"An orphan, a half-blood, Slytherin Prefect and eventual Head Boy," Albus explained. "Now, however, he goes by the name of Lord Voldemort."

"WHAT?" Moody bellowed. The old investigator's mind was running a mile a minute as he processed. This changed everything from what the perp said in Olivanders to what happened in Knockturn Alley. With a shake of his head to clear his mind, he pulled out a photograph taken from inside Olivander's memory inside a Penisive. "Now who is this?"

"He looks rather like an older version of young James Potter," Albus said. "But as he is a second year, that's rather improbable."

"Yes, especially since this man destroyed Knockturn Alley and wrote 'I'm coming for you Tom Riddle' on the wall in muggle paint."

"_He_ is the one then?" Albus replied with a raised eyebrow.

"So now the Wizarding world is stuck between two murderous psychopaths," Moody mused. "But this one isn't subtle, doesn't play by the same rules that Voldemort does."

"So this young man is going after Tom, I assume?" Dumbledore asked. "That was his justification in going against Knockturn Alley."

"Well, between you and me, he did cut down on the number of followers Voldemort has available," Moody mused. "We found more than a few marked minions, Death Eaters, they're calling themselves. This one," Moody tapped a finger on the picture, "knew where to strike. According to Olivander, the kid said that Riddle killed everyone he ever cared about."

"What if he's a squib?" Dumbledore mused out loud. "Or the son of Squibs rather, due to the fact that he was fitted for a wand."

"Yeah," Moody said, "About that wand..."

* * *

Severus Snape spent most of the night thinking about the offer. He had no idea how genuine it was, nor how much he could trust his captor. He promised him power, and yet hadn't shown his cards. And yes, Severus was especially skilled in Potions, but he wasn't a one trick pony. He had _ambition_. He didn't want to always play second fiddle, he wanted to be known as who he was. Snape pondered the offer once more.

Sunlight was streaming through the cracks in the boarded up windows by the time his room, his cell rather, was opened. The man came in, his face shrouded in shadows, and placed a tray of food on the desk.

"Have you made your decision?" the man asked.

"I don't know what to choose," Snape admitted. The man was intimidating, and good at it. "You talk about potions, what about...what about what other subjects?"

"I can tutor you in Defense, the practical side of things," the man said. "Transfiguration and Charms to a degree, perhaps enough to get your OWLs. Divination is less than useless and I have no skills in either arthrimancy or Ancient Runes, so you shall have to tutor yourself. Hopefully you'll only work for me half a year and can go back."

"What happens after half a year?" Snape asked.

"Either Tom Riddle dies, or I do," the man replied coldly. Green eyes seemed to gleam in the darkness. Severus froze for a while before the man broke their gaze and turned away. "I'd like your decision by the time I get back."

"Where are you going?"

"To clean up some trash," the man replied as he buckled on a protective vest that had been reinforced by some other kind of material, a gleaming skull with a scar over the left eye in the center of the chest. The 2nd year stared as the man buckled guns to his legs, belt, under his arms, across his chest and over each shoulder and across his back. He slipped on a set of robes that looked more like a muggle trenchcoat if not for the fact that it was quite clearly dragon leather. To Severus' great surprise, the man tucked a wand into his sleeve, almost as an afterthought. The man slipped on a fedora and walked out of the room, not looking back.

* * *

Harry arrived at the Ministry and walked right in the front door. He stepped up to the desk and pulled out his wand, setting it down for inspection.

"Purpose of visit?" asked a middle aged witch who looked back at him eagerly. She was pretty once, in her youth, and that probably aided in getting a muggleborn such an "important" Ministry position. Harry nodded to her in greeting.

"Pest removal," Harry replied. "The Ministry has a snake problem."

"Oh, we do? I wasn't aware," the woman said with a surprised look.

"Yes, very venomous," Harry replied as he took his wand back. "Very dangerous. But I'm told that I'm just the man for the job."

"Oh, well, thank you for your hard work," the woman said as she went back to reading the latest issue of Ms. Witch. "Such a nice young man."

* * *

Harry made his way down the black stone hallways, following the pathways he and his friends took years before when his godfather died. The path was burned into his mind by guilt and self-recrimination, two things that burned like acid on his soul even now. He stepped into the lift and nodded cordially to the pretty young woman who was already inside.

"Department of Mysteries, please," he asked in a friendly tone. She blushed, didn't respond, but pressed the button and quickly stepped backwards into a corner. Harry nodded to her as he stepped out of the lift. It had always amazed Harry that the Department of Mysteries was never actually protected. There were no wards, no guards preventing entry. This place of strange and unknown magics was easily penetrated by a group of 5th and 4th years. As it was, Harry was able to walk right up to his target and press the pistol to the back of his spine. The Unspeakable stood up straight in surprise.

"Hello, Rookwood," Harry said in a tone of faux friendship. "How are we doing today?"

"That is a very strangely shaped wand you have pressed against my back," the Death Eater spy said in a worried tone.

"Don't worry, it's not a wand," Harry replied warmly. "So tell me, is the Time Chamber in the same place it is twenty years from now? Or is it closer to twenty-Five? Admittedly, I never checked the date when I arrived."

"Time-"

"Yes, I am from the future," Harry said in that same strange warm tone as if he were talking to an old friend. "So, tell me, are you a Death Eater yet, or are you saving signing up for a special occasion?"

Rookwood went pale. No one was supposed to know about his true allegiance, and it was supposed to be kept even from most Death Eaters, or at least that's what the Dark Lord had said. He slowly turned around and realized that the man was pointing a muggle pistol with a strangely long barrel at his chest.

"I'll take your silence as confirmation of your allegiance," Harry said, pulling the trigger on the silenced pistol. He shot three times, and Rookwood shook with the impact, falling against the black stone wall of the department corridor. Turning sharply, the young wizard undid his silencer and strode quickly towards the Time Chamber. He opened the doors, walked past the surprised Unspeakables and took a handful of time turners. He slipped one around his neck, flipped it once just as the Ministry officials realized what was happening. Harry arrived in the same place an hour earlier. Glancing at the display of time turners, Harry appropriated those he did not already possess. He walked out of the Department of Mysteries as unmolested as he arrived.

He walked into the lift and moved upwards. He was going to be busy.

* * *

The Ministry was in an uproar. Twenty-seven officials dead, all murdered in the same day. And what was worse, there wasn't any evidence or witnesses for most of the killings. And they all took place at the same time, or nearly so. The bodies all had holes in them, burned right into the small of the back and out the front. The damage was far too extensive and happened far too quickly. It paralyzed the targets first and then let them bleed out.

"Why haven't we found any magical signatures?" the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement bellowed. "How many are we dealing with here?"

"One," said a voice from the doorway. Croaker nodded to the assembled aurors and officials as he walked in. "You are dealing with one assailant."

"How?"

"Because the first thing he did was break into the Department of Mysteries and take a time turner," the Unspeakable explained. "Or rather, all the Ministry's Time Turners. He knew exactly what he was looking for. He walked in, killed Rookwood, who was revealed to be a Death Eater, by the way, and walked right by myself and one other, used one of the devices and walked out of the Department an hour earlier unmolested."

"Why are you telling us this?" Moody demanded.

"I have been given permission to reveal this much so long as the details of our research are not revealed to the general public," Croaker replied. "I believe if you check the registry approximately nine fifteen to nine thirty you will find the culprit's name."

There was some scrambling as the registry was brought in.

"Harry Potter, holly 13 inches, phoenix feather core," Moody read from the large book. "Came into to 'take care of the Ministry's snake problem' that we weren't aware of. That matches the wand Olivander told us about."

The Head of the DMLE leaned back in his chair and pondered this for a while. "Moody," he said. "Go see the elder Potters, bring the shot we have from Olivander's memory. See if they know anything, but don't accuse them of anything. The last thing we need are Wizengamot members rattling our cages." the scarred auror nodded and turned out the door towards the floo. The Head turned to the other aurors. "Check the backgrounds of all the victims. I want to know how this guy is getting his information. Are they all Death Eaters? Any cases of mistaken identity? How did he kill them all at the same time? What curse did he used to make their bodies explode like that?" He stopped talking and waited as his aurors stared at him. "What are you waiting for? Go!"

* * *

Harry's assault was rather simple really. By telling the ministry that he was working in Pest Control, he walked right in a hole in their defenses. He was given complete access without constraints and allowed to plant devices all over the place. The devices were actually prank creations of the Weasley Twins given to Harry as a "sampler" for their "business partner" to enjoy. They were actually one of the earliest Weasley creations, a crab like creature that crawled up clothing and hid. Originally, the Twins used these in their second year to prank the young ladies, however, Harry used them with more malicious intent.

Each Clothing Crawler had a payload, in this case a small batch of thermite. They crept up into the robes of Death Eaters, each being charmed to seek out a bearer and waited until a magical signal was sent out. Then it was a simple matter to "flip the switch" so to speak and activate the thermite which in turn activated a secondary poison feature.

Harry wasn't even in the Ministry when it all went down. He walked out, kindly nodding to the secretary ten minutes after he initially walked in.

"Your snake problem will be taken care of momentarily, Miss," he said formally. The middle-age woman blushed and smiled meekly. He mimicked tipping a hat to her and walked outside, giving his wand a wave to send the signal. He didn't smile or flinch when the blood curdling screams went up, he just walked forward, down Diagon Alley, out the Leaky Cauldron and climbed aboard a bus.

* * *

"Have you made your decision?"

Severus Snape squeaked in surprise, thinking he was alone until that voice came out of the shadows. The man stepped into the light, all black armor and white skull. Severus couldn't imagine how a man wearing boots that big and heavy could walk so quietly. The man unbuckled a dragon-hide gauntlet and let it fall to the table with a loud noise as the buckles clattered together and the steel table rang loudly. The second followed quickly after the first, causing the boy to jump in surprise.

"I-I'll be making potions, right?" Severus asked. "I won't be hunting people like you do?"

"You'll be allowing me to kill more Death Eaters," the man said flatly. "Let's not beat around the bush."

It was strange for Harry to watch the man who had murdered the Headmaster as such a young person. He was there, the Snape Harry had seen all through school, but he was different, unsure of himself. And he was young. While he looked up to people like Lucius Malfoy, he had yet to actually follow that path.

Absently Harry realized that by forcing Snape to be nice, he might be dooming his own existence to oblivion. He flinched briefly, his face hidden in the shadows, but then relaxed. It wasn't like he ever knew his parents in the first place.

Snape didn't say anything for a long while before looking up at Harry. Their eyes met.

"Yes," said the boy.

"Good," Harry said. "You can start with blood replenishing potions."

* * *

Lucius Malfoy, in his last year at Hogwarts, was spending some time with some friends in Hogsmeade. Their normal meeting place was still under construction as the investigation was still ongoing into Knockturn's destruction. He never saw the sniper shoot from the Forbidden Forest, high in the trees. He didn't feel the bullet enter one side of his head and out the other. He didn't feel it as he fell to the ground.

His friends had time to scream. Some even had time to run. But only some of them. Seven people who were, or would become, Death Eaters died that day. The facts that three of them were prefects and all were bullies was not ignored. By the general populace.

Harry didn't even bother to move from his hiding spot as he targeted the people down in the lowlands. He pulled out his wand and set his own mark on the corpses. He levitated a bottle of spray paint and tagged his kills with a simple first year spell.

* * *

The Prophet was in the business of drama, elaborate titles and obfuscation of the truth. Those in charge didn't want people to know how bad things were with the Death Eaters and the attacks. Those in power refused to admit that those "noble" houses could have links with Voldemort's people. And then those links started showing up dead. The staff was split. One group sided with the Pureblood Families, who still were a huge economic force in Magical Britain; another group sided with the muggleborns, who were the actual disenfranchised of the magical world; a third group sided with those who just wanted a fantastic story. That third group won.

"The Punisher: Hero or Villain?" the headlines said, featuring a picture from a pensieve memory. It featured Harry Potter, not that they knew his name, firing a shotgun as fast as he could, blasting repeatedly at targets in Knocturn Alley. Smoke billowed from burning buildings and obscured his face, only the white skull on his chest shown clearly. Just before the image reset, the smoke cleared showing the brilliant bright eyes and raw lightning bolt scar. The resemblance to the Potters was clear to any who had met them.

Charlus Potter tossed his copy on a table.

"No," he said to the aurors across from him. "I don't know him. Although I agree, the resemblance is uncanny."

"Uncanny enough to be related," Moody stated/asked. "Squib relative? Illegitimate child?"

"No, and no," Charlus said. "We haven't had many squibs in the Potter line, and none in the last fifty years. And no, I did not have an affair. The boy looks no older than twenty and I can swear that I've been quite loyal to my wife during that time."

"He identified himself as Harry Potter before the attack at the Ministry," Moody went on.

"Potter is not an uncommon name in the muggle world," Charlus pointed out. "It's a name for a family that had ancestors who made pots, just as we did, many, many generations ago. There are hundreds of them all over the place. It's not unbelievable that one would have a similar appearance. And I'd remember those eyes and that scar. No, there's never been a Potter in this family with those eyes."

Moody grunted something unintelligible, but jotted the man's statements on his pad. After a moment, he looked up again.

"What about his choice of targets?" Moody asked.

"There were what? Two? Two people who weren't marked as Voldemort's chattel?" Charlus asked. "Forgive me for not being too upset about it."

"So you don't care that he's killing children, elderly and the poor?" asked Moody's newest partner, an idiot right out of the Academy.

"His methods are cruel, but he is going directly to the source of the problem," Charlus said. "I know most people in my situation are willing to remain ignorant with the Prophet feeding me heartwarming tidbits, but unlike most Wizengamot members, I actually do read the reports that are handed to me. Nearly two hundred muggles dead. Each time, the image of a skull with a snake hovering over the attack site. The Obliviators are called in and made to think it was a muggle bomb, or a terrorist attack, or a gas leak or what have you. Most of the Wizengamot might not care about muggles, but I can see the trend. Rape, murder, torture. So no, I'm not upset to see these monsters die."


	9. Harry's Creed

**Harry's Creed**

* * *

Harry Potter had only been back from Hogwarts a week when it happened. Cedric was dead only a week before that, so Harry was dealing with everything all alone when his life turned so dreadfully to type: a brief moment of boredom punctuated by mind numbing terror.

Harry awoke to the sound of the front door being smashed. He sat up as he heard a large group of people storm up the staircase. He pulled out his wand as he heard the unmistakeable sound of a gun sounding off and his aunt's scream asking them why they shot Vernon. Harry panicked as he looked at Hedwig in her cage. In a fit of adrenalin fueled strength, Harry pried the door open to her cage and grabbed the first piece of paper he could find. He scribbled out a little note and tied it to her leg and opened the window just in time for his own room door to swing open wide.

Harry turned around slowly, looking at the strange men. They were dressed in black like in those American cop shows with guns with a flashlight attached to the barrel.

"My aunt and uncle are dead, aren't they?" he asked a moment before two wires flew at his chest, sending volts through his body. His muscles felt like they were on fire. The feeling was weaker, yet familiar to one he felt far too recently. As his body fell to his knees and then to the floor, the memory of the snake faced murderer pointing the stick at his face. He only wished to forget, to be able to ignore the visions of times past that blundered through his consciousness time and time again. Just as he was about to pass out, he heard one of them tap his ear and nod. "Yes, sir. Targets acquired."

* * *

"Yes, sir," the man said into the phone. "Two of them, cousins, their mothers were sisters...yes I understand that it's the target's paternal line we're after, but that's not to say that they won't be useful. And if I'm right we might very well have another of the Eagle's descendents...yes sir." He looked up and noticed a pretty blonde woman walking in with a folder tucked under one arm. "Actually sir, we've got the genetic results right here...oh yes, sir, genetic mapping with the new computers only takes an hour or so these days...now let me see..." he said, trailing off as he ran his fingers over the report. "Sir, we have confirmation of sixteen markers. ...Yes, sir, but that's why I think we can have subject 15 exercise to lose weight while we explore the memories of subject 16...no, sir, subject 15 is obscenely obese, it would be quite unwise to put that much strain on the Animus...I'm glad you agree sir...oh I think you'll find subject 16 quite willing to put up with our requirements when we put pressure on family...no sir, I don't think either are active members of that organization, actually I don't think they even know of their connection. ...Perfect then! I'll get them started right away."

* * *

Harry awoke to a white room. Everything was white. The walls, the floor, the ceiling and all furniture. And so was his shirt. His hands went to his pants, only to relax as he felt the familiar holly wood in his pocket. Hedwig and his other possessions were no where to be seen, a quick glance about the room revealed a door with a muggle electronic keypad, a locked closet and a bathroom. He glanced about a bit more and noticed a series of red lights.

'Well, at least I wasn't kidnapped by Voldemort's minions this time,' he thought to himself. But why him? And what would muggles want with him, except maybe that they knew about the Wizarding World.

The door opened with a sound of compressed air, sliding into the wall. A middle aged man in white stood motioning him to the doorway.

"Come along, Mr. Potter," the man said in an American accent. "You were rather difficult to track down, you and your cousin. Time's a wasting."

"Who are you? Why are you doing this?" Harry asked, making no move towards the door. The man sighed before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a gun.

"_Now_, Mr. Potter," the man said in a half-growl.

For a half second, Harry thought about pulling his wand on the man, but realized that he didn't know where he was or how long had passed. He would have to play along, at least until Hedwig returned from her mission. Slowly, so as to get a good look at the surroundings, Harry made his way to the door. He glanced around and noticed a number of other white things. The chairs, the desks and a strange white bed-table thing with a series of lights down the middle in a sort of slow strobe.

"Get on the Animus, Mr. Potter," the man with the gun commanded. Harry must have made a confused look because the man sighed and motioned towards the bed-table thingy. "There, Mr. Potter, that is the Animus."

Harry walked towards it without any sense of hurry, making sure to take in as much of his surroundings as possible. He glanced about and saw a clear glass window where his cousin was forcibly running on a treadmill. Two blocky men in black suits with suspicious bulges under their arms watched over the fat teen as he huffed away, sweat streaming down his face.

"Dudley!" Harry called out in surprise. Dudley either could not hear or did not respond.

"Ah, yes, your cousin," the man with the gun said. "He was going to be our first choice, but his weight could potentially break the Animus and a treadmill is cheaper to replace should something go wrong. But don't worry, Mr. Potter, he is safe," the man flashed Harry a threatening look. "For now, at least."

Harry shot a glare at the man, but slid onto the bed-table-animus, whatever. Almost as soon as he was done positioning himself, a glass view screen moved over his head and a display shown.

"I think you'll find this remarkably like those video games people your age like so much," the man said.

"I've never played one," Harry replied sullenly.

"Really? How very interesting," the man replied in a voice that suggested it was not, in fact, interesting at all. Harry heard the sound of the door sliding open and saw a new person entering the room. She was blonde, pretty and _also wore white_.

"Seriously, what's the deal with the white?" Harry asked.

"Never mind that," the man said. "Miss Stillman, begin the Animus program for Subject 16."

* * *

"Oh, Ezio," the woman moaned in his arms. He was a boy and Christina was a girl. They were together and everything was right in the world. Then there was a pounding at the door to Christina's room, leaping from the bed at the vulgarities thrown his way by the girl's father. Moments later, he raced across the rooftops, his shirt clutched into his hands. He dodged a few of the Pazzi goons, having to pause several times to encourage them to "sleep" before he continued on his way. He leaped over chimneys and walked over rope hanging between the great plazas of the city. He jumped over the gap between two houses and jumped down into the courtyard of his parent's residence.

And then he was in Hogwarts. He looked around and saw a young Sirius and Remus. Merlin, they couldn't have been more than his own age, probably closer to 13 than 15 and were grinning in an evil way. Harry glanced at the shorter boy with them and saw red. His hands reached out and started squeezing the life out of Wormtail while Sirius and Remus tried to pry him off the boy, but his hands refused to let go. The memory of the grave yard was too fresh, the mental wound having not had enough time to scab over. Wormtail looked up at the owner of the hands choking the life out of him with confusion and horror, as if he didn't understand how his friend could do such a thing.

SYNCHRONIZATION FAILURE

There was a flash of pixilated imagery and Harry was thrown out of the vision. His chest heaved as if with great exertion and his brow was wet with perspiration. His muscles seemed to relax, but they ached as if he'd been using them.

"What happened Miss Stillman? I'm looking for the memories of a master assassin, not some idiotic English boarding school!" the man hissed.

"I don't know what happened," Miss Stillman protested. "But he's been in there for _three days_! His mind can't handle this combination of mental and physical stress. Dr. Vidic, let him sleep and I'll go over the records and hopefully find out what was going wrong."

The man grumbled under his breath about what useless people he had to deal with, but motioned for her to retract the viewer. Harry took deep, slow breaths. He was exhausted and he was hungry. His body betrayed him as he tried to get up and he realized that his lower half was hooked up to a few machines that took care of his personal waste. He felt weak all over and his body wanted nothing more than to just fall over and die. But this wasn't unlike his punishments as a child for doing something as simple a regrowing his hair after it was shaved off.

"Why are you doing this to me?" he asked as the nurses disconnected him from the medical equipment. For the first time he found himself yearning for the vile tasting potions that Matron Pomfrey had forced down his throat at school.

"You are part of the future, Mr. Potter," Dr. Vidic replied. "You see, the past is written in our DNA, in our genetic code."

"What's a genetic code, or DNA?" Harry asked, having not paid attention to muggle science the past five years as he was understandably distracted by other things. Dr. Vidic looked at him like he was insane.

"Mr. Potter, I don't care what kind of education you've had, you should at least know the basics of genetics," the man taunted. "What were they teaching you at St. Brutus's? Never mind, the name alone reveals its purpose. No, the genetic code is what separates a human from an ape, an ape from a monkey and even a snake from a bird. It is the language of life, the song of existence. The past of you, your parents, their parents and so on and so forth going back and back and back, is all written in your genetic code. This device, the Animus, allows us to read and review the memories of your ancestors while you relive them. For example, you are descended on your mother's side from Ezio Auditore, whose memories we were just now reading."

"So, when I-when I saw them-"

"Yes, that was a memory, but what possessed you to strangle that young man's friend resulted in a break from synchronization which then exiled you from the memory, as that is not what happened," Vidic continued.

"So, since the past didn't happen that way, I can't review the memories unless I continue on the same way," Harry guessed.

"Who was he? Just out of curiosity," Vidic asked as he paced about the room.

"He was responsible for my parents' deaths," Harry said quietly, wincing as the young nurse improperly removed the tube from his urinary tract. She gave him an apologetic look. Another disconnected the IV from his arm. He tried to stand up, but his vision swam and they helped him into a wheelchair.

"Get some rest, Mr. Potter, you'll need it," Vidic commanded as the teen was rolled away into his locked room. Once inside, the nurses helped him to the bed and reconnected the IV. Harry could still hear the man berating the blonde woman for her "incompetence." Harry listened as Vidic and Stillman discussed what they saw on the video. It was just a repeat of Harry's vision of his-He had been his father. He saw his father's life. This was a chance for him to see everything that his father and ...he could see his mother's life as well. If only he could convince them to let him. He needed to go back into that machine. He needed to know who his parents were, not just what people thought of him. He was more than his father's face with his mother's eyes. There was so, so much more to him and to them. He needed to go back inside.

* * *

Harry awoke later to a nurse dragging in a plate full of food. Well, one could suppose it could be called food: preprocessed, bland, efficiency-only foodstuffs. There was nothing solid, everything was a gel or a liquid and there was little dairy save for some ice cream for "desert." Harry didn't care and ate it all, perhaps a bit too quickly. He choked slightly on the mush/breakfast thing as it went down hot. Harry took some time and allowed it to cool before continuing on.

"Come along, Mr. Potter, tick-tick, time's a wasting," Vidic said about three quarter's through the meal.

"I'm eating," Harry said. "And what happened to my pants? I want them back." Vidic opened his mouth to make some kind of platitude, but Harry continued on. "And I want to see my cousin."

"Your cousin is fine," Vidic said. "He's losing weight nicely. He'll be a new man if you see him."

"_When_ I see him," Harry corrected.

"Oh, right, of course," replied Vidic with a smirk. "_When_."

Harry finished his food and pushed the tray away. "My pants and my wallet, _**now**_."

Vidic looked at him and was about to say something, but the look in Harry's eye made him pause. There was something ethreal there, something beyond mortal ken, in Harry's eyes that made him nod to a nurse. "Give the boy his things."

Harry didn't thank him as he slid off the bed and into the wheel chair. He was weaker than he ever remembered being, but there was an inner strength that was pushing him forward. He ignored the nurse who prepared to push him along and grabbed the wheels and rolled himself into the other room. He was kidnapped, set into some kind of machine and his cousin, while not his favorite person, was being used in a similar fashion.

He rolled his chair right up to the Animus and with an indignant look towards his jailors pushed himself into a standing position and slid onto the machine.

"Very well, Mr. Potter, your things will be returned to you when this session is done," Vidic commented. He nodded towards his assistant. "Miss Stillman? Begin the session. And this time-get the _right_ sequence!"

* * *

He was riding a horse. There is something much more primal about riding an animal than riding a broom. Horses are alive, you can feel their muscles move, the heat their bodies give off. There's a smell too, but he was used to it. A team of three crusaders charged him, but he weaved his way around them, trampling one, the archer, right over. The walls of the canyons seemed to blur around him as he went faster and faster, pausing only to vault from the horse's back into a wagon load of hay. He waited for them to head off before he climbed back out and started to scale the large tower for a better look. Off in the distance he could see where he needed to be. He heard the call of the Eagle and his arms went wide as he spun, landing in the same wagon load of hay he had hidden in minutes before. He walked up and spotted a group of scholars making their way through the town gate. Slipping off the horse, he blended in with the white robed scholars and slipped into Jerusalem.

Then he was back in Italy. He watched and lived and experienced as Ezio watched his father and brothers hung from the gallows as the fat man looked on. He watched and lived and experienced the heart pounding thrill as he hunted down the man and saved his, er, Ezio's sister and mother from Florence/Firenze and out into the country where he fought off the Pazzi minions with the help of his, er, Ezio's Uncle. There was a moment where Harry/Ezio dreaded his uncle being a plumber for some obscure reason, but it passed quickly. At the Villa, Harry/Ezio spent hours searching every part of the villa. He explored the city and investigated every nook and cranny. He experienced the events that lead to convincing Ezio to stay and finish his training. Then after what seemed like weeks and years, he jumped off a building in Florence and landed in Griffindor Tower.

"I don't know, Lily wouldn't like it," he told Sirius.

"Oh, come on, Prongs, Lily never likes our pranks," his padfooted friend replied. "Come along, it'll be great."

James looked doubtful, but eventually his face turned from doubtto a smirk. "Okay, let's go get him."

They walked out on a bright weekend day and sought their prey. Snape sat under a tree. With a crowd behind him and his wand out, he snapped off a spell, dragging the Slytherin into the air and hauling down the undershorts to show everyone what he had. Everyone laughed, everyone but Snape and a certain furious redhead.

"JAMES POTTER PUT HIM DOWN!" Harry watched/lived/experienced the supreme dressing down Lily gave his father. He was confused, why would his father do that? How? He was a bully? There was a moment of static as synchronization was temporarily lost, but it bounced back from a different point of view. He was Lily, his own mother and watched as she chewed out his father to be for hurting her friend. Wait- Snape was his mother's _friend_? How the Hell? But the moment of shock passed and Lily tried to help Snape up to his feet.

"Come on Sev," she said, pulling the embarrassed boy to his feet, but he threw off her hand.

"Leave me alone!" he snarled. "Why should a _mudblood_ like you care?"

Lily recoiled as if slapped. Her jaw moved up and down, but not noise came out. The shock of her friend saying something like that to her was painful enough. Harry could feel the raw emotional pain that little phrase caused her. Harry struck out at the one who caused him and his mother so much pain, but as Snape was thrown backwards, the memory destabilized and fell apart, bringing him back to the waking world.

* * *

"It happened again! What are we paying you for, Miss Stillman?" Vidic demanded.

"You're paying me because I'm the best at what I do, _that's_ why," Stillman replied hotly.

Harry looked down to realize he was once more attached to enough medical equipment to service an ER in a major city. As he was awake nurses arrived and started the process of disconnecting him from everything.

"Where is Dudley?" Harry asked. "Where are my things?"

Vidic gave him a wordless snarl and motioned towards his room. Once more disconnected, he was rolled towards the bed again and set down. He was given a meal and something to drink and he glanced at his pants and shirt. His wand was still there as were his most prized heirlooms: the Marauder Map and the Cloak of Invisibility. He just made sure they were there, not worrying about what he might use them for, as the time hadn't arrived. He didn't want to do anything until he knew Dudley was safe. He sat up in his bed, leaning against the wall. The door opened with a hiss and Dudley walked in. A very thin Dudley. He was still muscular, but not fat. He looked like he had been running and exercising for weeks.

"Harry? What happened to you?" Dudley asked in horror.

"What?"

"You're so thin!" Harry glanced at his arms and realized that he was probably looking more than a little thin and perhaps even borderline skeletal.

"Well, so are you," Harry countered. "Have they done anything to you?"

"They made me run until I looked like this, but now they're keeping me in some kind of table like you've got out there," Dudley said. "They kept...they made me watch as you stayed on that slab. They kept telling me that you were the only family I had left. So I did what they wanted, I kept running and I ate what they told me. But then they put me on one of those tables too..." he trailed off before he looked at Harry with anger in his eyes. "They killed my parents, Harry. They said they wanted me, but they kept you as well to control me. They didn't...they didn't know about you know."

"I know," Harry said, with a look in his eyes that told his cousin to shut up. Dudley understood and nodded. "They have me going through the Middle East and Italy, living as an assassin."

"I'm in China and India in the 1930s," Dudley said. "They want something called the...sankara? Yeah, the Sankara Stones. I haven't found them yet. They said it's from my dad's side."

"They haven't told me what they're after with me," Harry said. "But it's like late 15th century Italy, late Renaissance. And, or, the Crusades."

"Oh, we read about that in school. Wasn't too interesting then, but it's getting more so now," Dudley said. "This guy, I guess he's my great-grandfather, he was American. I don't know the big deal, but I think he's the reason Dad always hated them."

Harry snorted despite himself. "Sorry, but Uncle Vernon didn't need much reason to hate someone."

Dudley looked away angrily, but shrugged and let his shoulders sag. He was about to say something else, but the door opened with a hiss. "Time to go, Mr. Dursley."

The look Dudley shot Vidic was one of hate and rage. Dudley's hands clenched, but he turned, nodding to Harry, and walked out of the room. He "accidentally" bumped into Vidic on the way out, eliciting an angry look from the man. Dudley faked an apology, but pocketed the code pen he lifted, making sure it was capped as he tucked it into his pants.

* * *

Harry Potter slept. In his place was James Potter. Or sometimes it was Lily Evans. One moment he would be Ezio and the next he would be some guy named Altair. Then he was his own grandfather, Charlus Potter. Other times he was other ancestors at other time periods doing other things. It was ever changing and repeated over and over and over. As time went on, he started remembering more and more of what these memories experienced.

After what seemed like days, weeks or even years, Harry awoke to the annoying "tut tut" of Dr. Vidic standing in the doorway. "Time to get up, Mr. Potter."

Grumbling, Harry slid himself into the wheelchair and rolled himself into the animus room where nurses were there to assist him.

"Not even waiting until I'm out this time?" Harry asked in a snide voice.

"We feel that the nurses actions may have had some effect on the fact the Animus continues to reject you time after time," Stillman said as she activated the animus. She leaned over to strap him in, pulling a long seat-belt like contraption across his chest and arms, snapping it in place and tightening it up. Meanwhile the nurses were hard at work removing any sense of dignity Harry still had and reconnecting him to all the contraptions from earlier. The catheter was a particular insult. He might have been thin, but his time in the animus had made him sickly, weak. But as the body weakened, the mind sharpened itself. Deep inside, Harry was already partitioning his mind using the arcane meditation of occlumency, a talent his mother had worked hard to develop with the help of her best friend. Her abilities were starting to blend with his. So were his father's skills. So were _other_ skills that even Harry wasn't sure where they came from. Strapped into the Animus, Harry clutched his wand to his side. He wasn't about to let himself be unprepared when it came time to escape. He glanced at the window and froze.

"Finished, nurses?" Vidic demanded gruffly. They nodded and quickly left the room. Vidic turned to Stillman who was fiddling with the computer. "You can begin when ready, Miss Stillman."

"Wait, before we begin, how long have I been here?" Harry asked. "Since the beginning, not just this last session."

"Nearly three months, Mr. Potter, but still that doesn't help you unless you know where 'here' is," Vidic replied. Harry nodded, glancing briefly at the window once more. Hedwig was perched across the street, a letter in her claws. He gave her a wink and she cocked her head in a position that was the owl equivalent of a smirk.

"I want to see my cousin again after this session," Harry told the white clad man.

The man snorted. "Fine, if that's what it takes. Miss Stillman, make a note of it."

"Of course, Doctor."

* * *

And Harry/Ezio was in Italy once more. And he was sleeping with someone known as the Lady of Forli. The next moment it was bedlam. Cannons blew off everywhere, sending mortar and stone flying like shrapnel. He ducked, running along, covering his head from attack. Mario was helping to get the-

BZZZT! SNAP! FIZZ!

The memory vanished, replaced by a black loading screen. His memories flashed faster and faster, older and older until he saw a woman running with a strange orb that he remembered handing to Mario. He and the woman were running, running while naked, and yet not. There were other humans wearing the same thing, but they weren't running. Harry and the woman climbed up the side of the building frantic, the fight/flight instinct honed in entirely at the latter. They ran up and the woman looked behind him and screamed "_Look out!_"

Then everything was black.

* * *

Harry screamed as a dam opened and memories like a biblical deluge gushed through his mind and for a time he wasn't sure who he was, where he was or when he was. He wasn't sure if he was Harry or someone reliving Harry's life. Then the flood stopped.

* * *

The room was like a prison cell. One window, one bed, one table and one dresser and a door that was locked from the hallway, not from inside. The walls were stark, undecorated, with only a few personal touches about the room: some objects on the windowsill, a photograph tucked behind some exposed pipes and book on the desk.

"Tom, you have a visitor," a middle aged woman said as she opened up the door. Standing next to her was a younger Albus Dumbledore dressed in muggle clothes of a style prior to the Second World War.

"Hello, Tom," Dumbledore said in a serious but kind tone. The woman left the door open, but quickly left them to their devices. He stared at Dumbledore while Dumbledore stared back at him a moment before moving to hang up his wet coat.

"Don't," he said, while looking out the window. The voice was young, a child's voice. "You're the Doctor, aren't you?"

"No," Dumbledore corrected quietly. "I'm a professor."

"I don't believe you," he said sullenly. "She wants me looked at. ...They think I'm...different."

"Well, perhaps they're right," Dumbledore said kindly as he sat on the bed of the cell like room.

"I'm not mad," he said.

"Hogwarts," Dumbledore said, "is not a place for mad people. Hogwarts is a school; a school of _magic_."

He nodded slowly as if he believed, but didn't want to admit it, still not totally sure the man wasn't just a doctor trying to trip him up.

"You can do things, can't you Tom?" Dumbledore asked, giving him a little nod. "Things other children can't."

"I can make things move without touching them," he said with a strange tone to the voice. "I can make animals do what I want without training them. And I can make bad things happen to people who're mean to me." He paused and looked Dumbledore in the eyes. "I can make them hurt...if I want." he paused and looked Dumbledore over once more. "Who are you?"

"I'm like you, Tom," Dumbledore said as he leaned forward slightly in a conspiring manner. "I'm different."

He gave the professor a sullen look then fixed him with a challenging stare.

"Prove it," he said in a smarmy voice that held just a tinge of the accent he would speak later in life.

And that was when Harry realized whose memory he was reliving.

* * *

The Animus was suddenly engulfed in flames and sparks that flew from the electronics as Harry screamed in rage and pain, his voice calling out from the beyond. People several floors down looked up from their work in horror and surprise both from the voice and at their computers as they fizzled and popped, the screens flickering on and off, the speakers echoing Harry's scream of pain and rage even if they couldn't understand the words he spoke. Slithering its way through the walls, beyond the soundproofing, the voice instilled an instinctive fear in them and they only wanted to get away from the sound.

In the room with Harry, Vidic hit the computer with his jacket, hoping to smother the flames and preserve the computer core. Neither noticed the bright glow surrounding Harry. Stillman was frantically trying to untie Harry from the machine as he writhed in pain, screaming curses in his rage as his back arched pressing himself tightly against the strap. The scar on his forehead glowed with an unholy light that seemed to stream outward, emanating rage and evil. She realized that he wasn't hurt by the flames, they danced across his skin as if they were unable to actually touch him even as his johnny was in flames. He was as a witch tied to a post in the midst of incineration as the strap burned through, freeing him.

The entire block was fried as Harry's magically infused rage flew out from him, his words emanating from the computers, the mp3 players, the cellphones and any other gadget in range, speaking words few understood intermixed with sharp piercing screeches that echoed out like modems calling for help and reaching for freedom. Abstergo went from online and logged in to digitally non-existent in an instant.

The flames continued to dance over his flesh as Harry sat up with a strength he shouldn't have had. He was like an avenging angel of death, all skin and bones, come to call. Any free object swarmed around him, orbiting him like satellites. They danced with the flames, became smoke and ash, and then dissipated as if they never were. Harry glared down his nose at Vidic and pulled the medical sensors from his chest with one hand while pushing himself upright like Frankenstein's Monster rising from his slab. Vidic looked upon Harry and knew fear and for a moment his conviction in the Templar movement wavered, twisted by the primal fear he had of his One before him. Harry absently waved his wand, still glaring at the man who had so abused his person and mind, and with a single word the IV, Catheter and other meddlesome medical gear vanished. Naked, looking not unlike some reanimated corpse from some movie of Lovecraftian eldritch horrors, he stood on his own two feet and pointed his wand at Vidic.

Vidic cowered before him.

"What are you?" he asked, holding up his hands before his face and looking away, as if he could ward off Harry's vengeance with false piety. Thoughts came unbidden to Harry's mind. Actions surged through his psyche as he pondered whether or not to stab a knife through the man's skull, or crucio him into insanity. The Killing Curse came to mind. Other, less forbidden, but equally dark spells came to mind. Fiendfyre could burn the man to ashes, as if he had never been. A cutting curse would make it easy to bring him back as an animated corpse under his control. A knife through the heart. A severed head to send back to his masters. Exsanguination, a simple spell, as easy to cast as _Lumos_, came to mind. The possibilities were nearly endless. With a second primal scream of rage, he forced back the flood, trapping the memories in walls stronger than steel, yet more fine than the finest feather. He stood like Moses, parting the seas of the memories so he could walk through. As he walked the memories boxed themselves up, all fitting in their special places until all of Harry's ancestry was contained in enough crates to resemble a warehouse of infinite proportions.

Finally, after the struggle was contained, Harry found himself with his wand to Vidic's forehead, the man still shivering in fear. There was still an urge to kill the man, but it was nothing compared to before, but Harry was aware enough to realized murdering the bastard would cause more problems than it solved.

"_Obliviate_!" he said flicking his wrist. Vidic turned slightly numb, but stilled as Stillman ran around the room. Harry ignored her and focused all of his will and power on the man cowering before him. "You saw me kill myself after going insane. I didn't know who I was or what I was doing and something caused the Animus to go up in flames, setting me off. It was really bloody."

Harry was about to leave it at that, but remembered another spell that seemed useful for this, and flung his wand at the man. "_Legilimens_!" Harry forced his way through the man's mind like a steam train over an unfortunate squirrel, picking it apart piece by piece. Eventually he realized what the eventual goal was.

"What are you doing?" Stillman demanded.

"I'm sorting through his mind, finding his goal," Harry said when he was done. He flicked his wand and silently sent a sleep spell at the man, making him fall to the ground in a heap. Harry looked more like a skeleton than the young man he was. His muscle-mass had mostly vanished and his hair had grown out, making him look even more unkempt than before, but it parted in front of his face, showing off his most famous feature that seemed to flicker and catch the remaining light in the room.

"How?" she demanded.

"I'm a wizard, Lucy," Harry said. "We hide from the world, keeping to ourselves, but if the Templars' plan continues we might not have that choice."

"Wizard? But how, we've never-"

"Wizards have always existed as far as we know, we go back at least to Merlin, probably before, History of Magic wasn't my strong suit in school, although I now have a new appreciation as to what dead people can teach me," Harry said, massaging his forehead. "I've seen things, old things. I know stuff. If I hadn't been who I am, I might have really gone insane. But really, at sixteen the knowledge of an 'ancient all powerful civilization' existing in the depths of time, isn't as scary as a 60 foot basilisk when you're twelve. That's still pretty much tops. Especially now that I know how to kill _him_."

"Him?"

"A long story, one I can't allow you to remember," Harry said before pointing his wand at her with a flick. "I killed myself. It was really bloody. Oh, and change the color scheme, maybe add some grays in here. The all-white-all-the-time is really giving me a headache. And before I forget, you need to forget about all references to magic in relation to wands and me. They're all fiction or mortalized legends left over from Those Who Came Before."

She slumped back into her chair numbly as Harry turned towards the door being forced open. Dudley stood there, having shoved the electronic lock open with a crowbar.

"Ready, Harry?" he asked.

"Almost," Harry said, flicking his wand a letting a silvery strange flow from the side of his head into the Animus. He doubled it, and returned the original back to his mind. "Our escape doesn't change anything, really. They're just going to find someone else and next time they might not be as lucky."

Harry cut his finger and started drawing on the floor.

"What are you doing?" Dudley asked.

"Bloodwards," Harry said. "My mother was an expert in them. Now no one will be able to harm anyone in this room. Or the bedroom. They'll justify their actions, rationalize them away, but they can't harm anyone here anymore."

"Why blood?" Dudley asked a little nervous of the blatant display of magical power. The pentagram Harry drew glowed sickly

"It's always about the Blood," Harry muttered to himself before shaking his head slightly to keep the memories in place. "Blood is power, Dudley, it's what kept dark wizards from attacking me in Privet Drive, it's what kept you and yours safe from wizards," Harry said. And yet it had done nothing against normal humans, Harry thought to himself before adding in some modified "notice me not" aspects to the wards. "And there's a good chance that whoever they bring in after me is going to be some kind of relation."

"But the tail, you blowing up aunt Marge..." Dudley trailed off. "What about those things?"

"They were never meant to harm. And also, Aunt Marge isn't related to me, so the blood wards wouldn't work in her favor anyway, and mine have a bit more protection than those my mother set up, considering they were specified against Dark Magic and I'm focusing on Non-Violence," Harry said as he walked into the bedroom and started writing on the wall. Some of the things he understood. Others he knew. He had to write. It wasn't really a compulsion, just something that was necessary. Miranda understood. When he was done, he slumped back into the wheelchair Dudley had ready for him. A few notice-me-nots and they were on their way, rolling and walking out of Abstergo unnoticed and unmolested. "Did they find what they were looking for?"

Dudley smirked. "They thought so, but not really. Did you know they don't think the Grail is real? Same thing with the Ark of the Covenant."

"And you do?"

"It's...being studied by _top_ people," Dudley said hesitantly. "Where are we anyway?"

"Paris," Harry said, looking up at the Eiffel Tower in the distance, half remembering something from some other ancestor who had spent time in the city. "I think I know some people who owe me a favor or two who live nearby. But first, I need a few potions to get my strength back."

"You can do that?"

"Dudley, if you only knew what my parents could do..." Harry said with a look of amazement. He glanced down the street. "I've been here before."

"Harry, we've never been to France, you know what Dad was like," Dudley corrected him as he wheeled his cousin down the walk.

"Dudley, put your hand on my shoulder," Harry commanded and as soon as the larger teen did so, the street transformed. It was older, cleaner, but there was a side street that hadn't been there before. "Go in there, Dudley."

Dudley was hesitant, his lingering reluctance to trust magic was not as strong as it once was, but was not entirely vanished either. But he swallowed his fear and turned onto the street. Dudley had never been to Diagon Alley, and this street in France was similarly different from the norm. The style and fashion were very similar to that typically found in magical Britain, but it was different enough to never mistake for Britain. Robes were shorter for women, much more like the dress-suits the Beauxbatons students wore to the Tri-Wizard than the long formless robes that trailed along the ground of British magical society. Men tended to wear less flowing robes, much more like muggle suits than those favored by most British Wizards. But the architecture was older, much older than in London. It was more Roman than later civilizations, with marble steps and finely carved columns propping up overhangs, but the buildings had been built upon and those buildings had been built upon, so it seemed as if a balcony on top of a balcony on top of a balcony until they were nearly touching across the wide streets of the Magical Quarter of Paris. Dudley gawked at the sight.

"I remember when those were built," Harry said, glancing towards the converted Temple of Hecate (now a potions supply store and warehouse) next to a stable converted into an outdoor bar. "I was so impressed by their ability to build quickly."

"No, you weren't, Harry," Dudley corrected. Harry winced as he realized what he had just said. The Paris Magic Quarter was nearly two thousand years old, there was no way Harry could have been there.

"No, you're right," Harry said. "That wasn't me. It's hard, _so_ hard to not remember... _everything_."

"...yeah... ..." Dudley said, trailing off as they paused. "Now what are we doing here?"

Just as he said that, Hedwig flew down and landed on the arm of Harry's chair. The two of them ignored the looks they got from the people around them as they clearly didn't belong, well, maybe it was something more on Harry's part. When Dudley watched them look at Harry, it was like they didn't know what to think about him. It was like they were trying to figure out what he was doing there. And while, yes, Harry was in a wheelchair and looked quite sickly, he still didn't think it was quite normal to get _those_ kind of looks.

Meanwhile, Harry was reading the letter attached to Hedwig's leg. His eyes scanned over the words and as he finished, his hands clenched, crumpling the letter in his hands.

"Damn old fool!" Harry said, throwing the letter to the ground.

"What was it?"

"Dumbledore was telling me to stay home, that someone would be there," Harry hissed. "It seems someone let Dementors into our old neighborhood."

"Dementors?"

"Evil, dark creatures that feed on people's souls," Harry said. "He doesn't even realize that we haven't been there for three months."

"Has it really been that long?" Dudley asked.

"That's what Vidic said before he put me in that last time," Harry said. He grumbled and reached down to pick up the abandoned letter. He waved his wand over it and erased the message and wrote his own with a transfigured stick into a pencil. He tied it to Hedwig's leg with the same ribbon Dumbledore's missive had used and ruffled the feathers under her chin. "Take that to the Delacours, girl. As quick as you can."

The owl rubbed her head against him before taking flight. They didn't have to wait long, as a crack was heard and two people stood in front of them. The man was tall, dark haired and handsome. The woman was the kind of woman that makes straight men drool and make fools of themselves, in other words, she had veela blood.

_"Monsieur Potter?"_ the woman asked with a gasp at his appearance. Harry nodded as respectfully as he could. _"Are you well? You look..."_ she trailed off as if she didn't want to describe how he looked. He had been quite healthy when they had last seen him at the Final Task, and now he was a skeleton with skin.

_"It's part of what I need your help with, if you don't mind,"_ Harry said.

_"Of course, you saved our youngest when Fleur couldn't,"_ Monsieur Delacour replied before glancing at Harry's companion. _"And this is?"_

_"My cousin, Dudley,"_ Harry introduced. Dudley flushed and looked away from Madame Delacour, but shuffled his feet slightly.

_"Could we switch- uh, I speak French not well. I am speaking French better than am speaking German, but much not by,"_ the sturdy cousin said. It was only then that Harry realized he'd been conversing in French the entire time. He flashed his cousin an apologetic look, but the bigger teen shook his head. _"Latin or Greek better. Not so French. English best. Please."_

The Delacours sighed and nodded. At least Dudley made the attempt. They switched to English. Having had more practice, their accent was negligible.

"How can we be of service?" Monsieur Delacour inquired, motioning them to move closer to the bar made out of a Roman stable. Dudley pushed Harry over while the Delacours walked along side them.

"My cousin and I find ourselves in Paris without coin after some unfortunate events-"

Dudley snorted at that phrase.

"-And we need to get some potions for health and such. We might be in a bit of danger, as well," Harry admitted. They shared a glance, but Harry shook his head. "Not the black robed kind."

"I don't know, Harry, there's a guy in black robe looking at you pretty closely," Dudley said pointing to a man across the street.

Harry commented on this individual with some choice phrases that would have had anyone who could speak early 16th century Italian blushing brightly. Most of them were not anatomically possible, but that only made them more forceful in their impact. He recognized the man from his brief sojourn in the Riddle graveyard. "Avery," Harry finished with a look of hate directed towards the man. The man obviously recognized Harry and vanished with a crack.

Delacour looked at where the dark wizard had disapparated from and frowned. "I do believe it is time for us to leave."

* * *

A portkey later and they were in the Delacour parlor.

"Thank you," Harry said even as his stomach felt like it was still in the portkey. Dudley, his first instance of magical travel, was equally discombobulated by the event. While his memories of his ancestor allowed him to relax more in the presence of magic, there was still a lingering mistrust from his upbringing. However, he was well aware that nothing would ever be normal again.

Harry looked up at his saviors with an apologetic look. "Sorry for getting you involved in this. It wasn't my intent. I was just hoping to get some potions and go home." he paused. "Wherever that is."

"What happened?" a young voice asked. "Harry? Harry Potter?"

Harry felt ashamed to be seen by the youngest Delacour in his present state. He wore a johnny, was being pushed around in a wheelchair and looked like he just crawled out of a crypt. Not the best image for someone nearly ready for bed at the tender age of nine. Harry was sure his appearance was the stuff of nightmares. The girl's parents seemed to agree.

"Gabrielle, please go to bed," her mother told her. "Harry will be here in the morning."

Gabrielle was reluctant, but did as her mother bid. Harry winced as she gave him one last look of pity before vanishing down the hallway. The moment she was gone, her mother motioned them over to a table. "Now, I don't mean to be rude, Monsieur Potter, but what is going on?"

Harry and Dudley shared a look, then both shrugged.

"To sum up," Dudley said. "We were kidnapped and held for the last three months before we escaped today."

"Oh," Madame Delacour said, more than a little shocked.

"Is there a long version of this tale?" her husband asked.

"Oh, much longer than you know," Harry said before trying to puzzle through the story of Abstergo, but decided not to mention the stranger parts, like _His_ memories. With Dudley telling his side of things, they explained the basics of what happened to them. "But they were looking for some things our ancestors had. These muggles found a way to read the memories of our ancestors. It seems that everything we know and everything our ancestors knew is still inside us. They had a machine that brought his knowledge forward. They didn't care about our well being, only their goals," Harry explained. The interest was clear on their faces, as was their surprise, but they did not wish to interrupt the story and motioned for the two boys to continue.

"But they were smart," Dudley said. "They didn't let us know where we were or let us contact anyone. We couldn't escape easily. I was only in the machine for short spurts. Harry was in there for days at a time, weeks even."

"It wasn't until we escaped the facility that we realized we were in Paris," Harry said. "And you're the only people I know from France. Uh, how is Fleur?"

"She is in England, working at Gringott's," Apolline replied with a proud smile. "I think she will go far."

"That's good to hear," Harry said. "But you want to know about me. I need some potion ingredients. I don't have money on me now, but Hedwig can bring them to-"

"There is no issue if they are not that rare," Monsieur Delacour said, cutting him off. "If they are too expensive, then we can deal then. But please, you saved our daughter. A few components are nothing compared to our Gabrielle."

"Thank you," Harry said honestly. "You don't know how much that means to me."

Dudley looked him over. "I think sleep first though."

The Delacours smiled at the teen's attempts at staying awake and nodded. Harry reluctantly shut up. He was taken via house elf express and was asleep before he was even out of the chair. The Delacours turned to Dudley.

"And you, young man, how do you fit into all of this?" Apolline asked.

Dudley blushed and squirmed, but found his steel will. "I'm Harry's cousin, Dudley Dursley. Sorry for not introducing myself earlier, I...I'd never been in a place like the magic quarter."

"You are not a wizard?" Mr. Delacour asked, sitting up surprised.

"No, I'm just a regular guy," Dudley said. He thought back on what he was to Harry. He had long since realized that Harry was all he had left. He couldn't go back to Smeltings because of the Templars. He couldn't go back to boxing for the same reason. His parents were dead, killed by the Templars, and he wanted nothing more than to get revenge, but the experiences over the past month were life changing. His ancestor had a sense of duty. And a really strong hatred of snakes and Nazis, two things that Dudley had in common with his great-grandfather. He had gained a healthy respect for magic, for what it could accomplish, but his fear pulled back as other facts changed his world view. Looking at the Delacours he realized that they weren't freaks. If it weren't for their odd style of dress and the creepy monkey thing that took Harry to his room, they could have been average nobility in England. He hadn't seen any magic around them and the house just looked like one of those fancy manors that nobles live in from the 17th and 18th centuries.

"I hope that's not a problem?" he asked.

"I can't help but notice you have an American accent, North East, I believe, but not New England, am I right?" Monsieur Delacour commented. "But Harry grew up in England."

"Oh," Dudley said, scratching the side of his face where the stubble was starting to grow long. "I hadn't really noticed, but now that you mention it, yeah, I do, I guess." he shrugged, not quite sure how to explain the Bleeding Effect that Miss Stillman had explained. "It wasn't really made clear, but after a while we start taking on the traits of the ancestor's life, or lives. My great-grandfather was an American archaeologist. Before then I was a common thug and a bully. I didn't spend any effort on my accent or my education really, but I've come to realize how that had to change. My great-grandfather spent a lot of time and effort on what he accomplished and I guess that drive settled on me. And getting an education from my Great-grandfather's life gives me a step up."

The Delacours looked at each other in surprise. "That is a...useful item," Madame Delacour commented, thinking of the possibilities an Animus could have."

"It's not all great," Dudley said, looking down the hallway where Harry had vanished. "Harry was in it a lot more than me. They couldn't put me in it because last spring I was really fat, I didn't realize _how_ fat until I lost the weight. They made me lose it. But Harry was strapped in right off the bat. He forgets sometimes that he isn't this Ezio guy or his father or his mother. He had an ancestor around when your Magic Quarter was built. That bar we stayed at was a stable. He said that he's using something called occulamany?"

"Occlumency," Delacour corrected.

"Right, that, and he's trying to order his mind, but it doesn't always work," Dudley said. " I had three months to accept my parents death. Harry was strapped in almost the entire time. I think it hasn't really hit him what happened to us. Someday it will."

* * *

Harry awoke to the sound of chirping birds and a slightly larger bird poking him in the forehead with her beak.

"Hello, Hedwig," he said, reaching up to stroke her chin. She bent into his touch and made owlish-happy-sounds.

Harry was feeling more rested than he had in a long time. The best was soft, but not so much that one would sink into it. Harry sat up and took a moment to remember where he was. The high ceilings, the gilded doors, the walls that looked as if they were painted by one of the Renaissance Masters; all this reminded him of his location.

"Monsieur Harry?"

He turned, slipping on his glasses and saw a finely dressed house elf waiting for him.

"The Mistress of the Household and her husband are waiting for you in the parlor. New clothes have been set out for you, I hope you will find their suitable for your needs," the House Elf said with a formal bow.

"Yes, your assistance is appreciated," Harry replied formally. The house elf bowed once more before vanishing. With more than a little effort, Harry pulled himself to his feet. He waved his wand over himself, setting a few personal hygiene charms his father had used commonly in his time at Hogwarts when he was late to class or there was some accident in the preparation of a prank. He went from smelly and sweaty to clean and neutral scented in an instant. The next step was getting dressed, something that was a bit more difficult. He managed it after a while and made his way to the parlor.

He bowed to the family and shot a friendly smile at Gabrielle who gave him a wave back as she blushed in her seat. Monsieur Delacour motioned for him to take a seat. Harry wobbly sat down.

"Thank you, once more for doing this, I know you could have refused, and it means much to me that you would do this," He told them. Both smiled before they set in to breakfast. Dudley ate slowly, shocking Harry somewhat, as that was not typical Dudley behavior, but it was right in front of his face. Harry did similarly, keeping to his best manners, hoping to not offend his hosts. They did not speak during the meal, choosing to savor every bite. Harry didn't think that simple bread could taste so good, but there was something almost magical, well considering where they were, it probably it was, about the food. Or it might have just been that it was _French_ breakfast. Either way, it was the best breakfast either of the English boys had ever had. Of course, since they had been fed by either powdered foodstuffs or medical apparatus for the past few months, even moldy English bread and toast would have been positively divine.

Every so often Dudley would giggle at something he remembered or something his ancestor remembered. Harry was sure he heard the words "primate parfait," but he couldn't be sure.

* * *

Harry was led to the potions lab immediately after breakfast where Harry spent the better part of a day brewing muscle restoring potions, appetite enhancers and a few other potions to get him back into full health. All of these were his mother's creation or improvements on previous recipes. Downing the potions one after another, Harry's head swam and he fell to the ground as his body shifted and changed, grew. Twice he had to cast enlarging charms on his borrowed robes to fit into them. It took an excruciating hour, but by the end, Harry was in full health even if he was utterly exhausted. He picked himself up off the floor and slid back into his wheelchair, something he would soon abandon. A house elf brought him back to the room he was staying in and he slept, clothes still on, for another sixteen hours when he awoke completely ravenous. His needs were anticipated and he devoured the food made available to him. He got up and realized that the sun was just rising.

Around the room, he was amazed at how wonderful it felt to be steady on his feet. It was a case of not knowing what you're missing until it's gone. He bounced on the balls of his feet as if testing their strength. On a whim he jumped out the window and rolled to a stop on the balcony. It was there that he got to see the outside of the Delacour house for the first time. The Delacours were an old family judging by their home, or at least had plenty of wealth to afford such a place. It was not unlike Ezio's memories of Rome, a bizarre blend of medieval, roman and renaissance architecture. It was like the Roman Villa that had started the building off had been expanded and expanded over the centuries with a chapel in a clear gothic style to the east, while the guest house on the other side of the finely trimmed lawn was pure Enlightenment. The villa itself was white marble and red tiles, set up in a rectangular shape with a square courtyard in the middle. Acting almost on instinct, or at least something derived from his ancestral memory, Harry started climbing the side of the building. Hand over hand, catching foothold after foothold, handhold after handhold, he scaled the roman stoneworks, his fingers finding the most subtle of protrusions until he found himself at the juncture of the wall and roof. Kicking off with his legs, Harry jumped up and backwards, catching the edge of the clay roof before pulling himself up.

An eagle called out as it flew off, disturbed by this new upstart. To Harry, it was like the whole world came into view for the first time. He could see off, far in the distance. The early morning sun bright in his eyes to the east, but he could see every house, every cropfield, every stable. Like a silver ribbon, a curving modern road slithered along the rolling hills, coming close to the edge of the Delacour property, but there was no actual connection to the modern thoroughfare. Hedgerows divided property from property, meters thick barriers of brambles, trees, shrubs and scrub. Squirrels chattered among the trees and shrubs and birds flew in the air.

Harry took it all in: the smell of the air; the sight of the sun glistening off of dewy grass; hearing the birds sing in the morning; feeling the soft breeze across his newly replenished muscles. He stood tall and spread his arms wide like an eagle about to take flight. With a single deep breath, he let himself go, savoring the instant of freefall that made him so enjoy flying on a broom. His body spun in the air as Harry neared the wagon of hay down below so he wouldn't land on his neck.

And then he was tackled in the side.

* * *

Dudley had been conditioned to getting up at the crack of dawn while living in the Abstergo complex and even though they were nominally free, the programming remained. So there he was, awake before the sun itself was above the far off eastern horizon. Harry had been asleep for a long while, and he had to admit that he was worried about his cousin. He regretted his childhood actions, and while they were prompted by his father's urging and behavior, they were his own choices. The new memories of his great-grandfather had given him a new perspective. There was this thing they called the Bleeding Effect. From what Dudley understood, it was a blending of the Animus memories and abilities with the person in the Animus. Harry might have gotten magic, but Dudley had gotten an education. He understood things that were alien to him just a few short months before. As it was, in certain fields: ancient history, languages, mathematics and the physical sciences, Dudley could probably have taken his GCSE right then and there. He was still iffy on more recent history, but Dudley could easily read up on that. He had the memories of an adult, something that had profoundly changed the teen. Normally something like this would be "unnatural" and "freakish" to use his parents terms, but Dudley Dursley couldn't deny the truth that he had changed. While his great-grandfather's relationship with his father wasn't great, and his great-grandfather's relationship with his son was non-existent, as far as Dudley could tell (having not had any memories after that point), family was still very important to the man, something Dudley had inherited. The secondary effect was a sort of artificial maturity in his behavior, something that would shock those who knew him before, not to mention his smaller waist size.

So on this bright morning, Dudley went outside to experience the French August breeze. He found himself drawn to the horses, having had many memories of riding them all over the place. Harry also thought that if he tried he could hot-wire a Model A, but there wasn't much way to test it anymore. He pushed these thougts out of his head and enjoyed the morning air.

Until he saw his only remaining family jumping around on the roof of the Delacour Villa.

Rushing forward, he grabbed a length of rope and threw it high, feeling the familiar tug of the rope as he pulled tight around some object. He ran and kicked, timing his jump perfectly to catch his cousin who had taken the opportunity to jump off the third story building, arms spread out like a bird trying to take flight.

The air flew from his lungs as he found himself swinging sideways. His ecstasy of freedom vanished as he tried to reprocess what had just happened. There was a slight impact with the wall before they dropped to the ground.

Glancing around, he realized that Dudley of all people had caught him in mid-flight, assisted by a lasso used as an impromptu whip.

"WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING?" the two bellowed at each other.

"I'm not letting you kill yourself!" Dudley bellowed, his face turning a color known well to those who had offended his father.

"I wasn't killing myself! I was just jumping off the roof!" Harry bellowed back, not quite realizing how that sounded.

"Sounds like killing yourself to me!" Dudley yelled back.

"There was pile of hay! I wasn't in any danger! Why the hell did you tackle me!"

"Oh! Sorry for saving _the only family I've got left!_" Dudley screamed in righteous fury.

"I was perfectly fine!" Harry bellowed back.

They would have continued, but a perturbed and annoyed Gabrielle Delacour reached out her window from above and poured a silencing potion over their heads, effectively making any other argument moot. The angry part-veela gave them both a glare, said something quite rude in French and pulled the shutters of her window shut with enough force to rattle the glass.

* * *

Four hours later at a late brunch, the two young man, now rather grumpy young men glared in silence at each other. Gabrielle, looking like she had just walked out of the best dream ever, looked at the two of them with an impish smile as she stabbed a cherry tomato with a fork and popped it into her mouth. It would be another two hours after that when the potion would wear off. The two boys avoided each other for the rest of the day, Dudley spending time with the Delacours' horses and Harry with Monsieur Delacour in a discussion of magic and politics, however the conversation quickly turned towards the most recent crisis for the Potter boy.

"Harry, are you aware of what is happening in Britain right now?" Monsieur Delacour asked, leaning forward.

"No, other than Voldemort's return," Harry replied, taking a sip of wine.

"The press has... to be honest, the Minister of Britain has taken to vilifying you, painting you as an attention fiend," the older man said. "They have not been kind. Even going so far to call you delusional. You will most likely not be welcomed back with open arms."

"I figured he would do something like this," Harry grumbled. "Fudge is a petty, useless man. His refusal to see the truth will be his undoing."

"He is still politically powerful," Delacour cautioned. "Men like that do not give up power easily."

"I know, in his own way he is little different from Rodrigo Borgia or Robert de Sable," Harry said, his ancestor's memories bleeding in with his own even with his shields in place. "They cling to power even in death, unwilling to give anything up."

"Yes, very much so, but the backers are the problem," Delacour said. "They are the true power, the people who keep their puppet in place."

"_Malfoy_," Harry hissed lowly.

"Yes, him," Delacour agreed with equal distaste. "He and all his ilk are an embarrassment to the French. We are of the Republic, though the magical side of it. He perverts such things. His family tried similar tactics during the Revolution, but failed. They were cursed, which is why they bare the name of 'Bad Faith.' Strange that so many do not heed the warning."

"Many people only see the gleam of the gold and not of the eyes of the one who holds it," Madame Delacour said as she sat down next to them. "It has always been this way. There are as many fools as there are the wise."

"True, my dear wife," Monsieur Delacour said, kissing his wife's hand. "But this does not make them any less aggravating."

"Then you must grow wiser to deal with them," she said.

"Wouldn't that just mean someone would become more foolish to compensate?" Harry asked quickly, a wry smile on his lips. The couple looked at him before breaking into laughter.

"True, too true," Monsieur Delacour said, holding out his glass for more wine. Their house elf arrived and quickly filled the glass. He took a sip and changed the topic.

"This...Animus was it? Yes, Animus artifact, it is a very powerful item," Delacour said.

"Also very dangerous," Harry replied. "It's hard to remember some times, when it is. Some times I feel like I'm a man from the renaissance, other times I'm trying to find my other pals to go do some Marauding. Then sometimes I'm chewing myself out for some stupid thing I did. The memories overlap, blending and twisting. Sometimes I forget who I am and respond to names other than my own. If Dudley's right, I spent months in that machine. Maybe in short bursts it would be okay. But..." he trailed off, looking the older man in the eyes. "I'm only in the remotest sense sane because of my mother's abilities in occlumency, ironic that the Animus saved me from the same curse it cast on me. If I relax the mental shields the slightest bit, it all floods back in and I can't tell when or where I am. If I was muggleborn I would probably be truly insane."

Monsieur Delacour was a little shocked by the bluntness of the boys estimation of his own sanity. While on one hand he could truly be mad, he was aware of the situation and had partitioned his mind, organized it to keep it in control. But there was one possibility of some assistance.

"Tell me, Mr. Potter, have you ever heard of a Penseive?"

* * *

They spent one last night with the Delacours, who had supplied them with quasi-legal portkeys into Britain, specifically 4 Privet Drive. The next morning they both bowed deeply in respect to the older couple and Harry ruffled the hair of the young Gabrielle playfully. She giggled and gave him a hug before giving Dudley one immediately afterward, much to the larger boy's surprise.

"I can't thank you enough," Harry said. "And really, I'm in your debt. Should you need any help in Britain, ever, as and I'll do whatever I can."

"Likewise," Dudley said, shaking Madame Delacour's hand before shaking her husband's. "I might not be magical, but if you need help, call me or call Harry and have him give me a ring."

"It was no problem," Madame Delacour said. "As we said, you saved our dear Gabrielle, it was the least we could do."

"Remember what I said, Harry," Delacour said has he shook Harry's hand. "Malfoy and his kind can only be trusted as long as the rope that hangs them."

"Oh, I won't forget," Harry said. "But I'll do my best to shorten up that rope."

The older man smiled grimly. Harry stepped back, grabbed Dudley by the shoulder and said the command word. An instant later they were at Privet Drive, in Harry's bedroom no less.

Dudley, unaccustomed to magical travel, immediately sat on the bed.

"Don't worry, it'll pass," Harry said.

"Do you get used to it?" Dudley asked, looking a little queasy.

"I haven't," Harry said, leaning up against the doorway, looking slightly green. "Come on, let's go."

Harry bent down and pulled up a floorboard. He pulled his magical gear out of the hole and started shoving it in the trunk.

"That'll be a bit heavy, don't you think?" Dudley asked. Harry looked back up at him with a slight smirk. Dudley rolled his eyes and sighed. "Wizard, right."

"Go get your stuff, we'll put it in here as well," Harry said, organizing the trunk with the precision his mother had been known for. His previous, half serious method had always filled it far too quickly, all his clothes and books in a jumble that slid from side to side. Dudley was there soon, taking only a few things since none of his clothes fit anymore. Dudley, mostly on a whim, went up to the attic, thinking that there might be something that fit him in and amongst the various boxes and such. He knew his parents had stashed a lot of his grandparents stuff here and there, and he hoped that there was something that would fit. It was hard to understand how big one's clothing was until you lost weight. Dudley had gone through his old clothes and realized he could have made a decent sized tent with a few shirts. His father was even bigger than he was, so it was shocking now that he was in a smaller size. In the attic, he pushed boxes aside after quick glances inside. There were boxes and boxes of his mother's old clothes and a few things of his father's back when he was in college. Vernon Dursley had never been a small person, even though he had been thinner when he was younger. Holding up an old Rugby shirt, Dudley realized that his father had been the same size he had been before Abstergo got its paws on his and Harry. He tossed it aside and went through another box. What he found was definitely not what he expected.

The trunk was wooden, with a black, thick paper covering with metal and leather on the corners and edges. A heavy clasp held it together which came apart easily with a pinch and a twist that seemed to come easily to Dudley. The trunk was familiar, but Dudley was sure that he had never seen it before. After a moment, he realized he was having the same kind of temporal displacement that Harry had from time to time, though not as severely. He opened the trunk. Inside were books and photographs, both yellowed with age, stacked in a tray on the first layer of the trunk. It was clear that they had once been neatly organized, but had slid around in the tray. He picked up on and held it up. A woman in conservative 40s style dress stood arm in arm with a tall man with a fedora, a slight smirk and sweat stained shirt half opened, showing the man's chest. She looked familiar, very familiar and it took a while to realize that they must have been his great grandparents. He could see familiar parts in the faces of his grandmother, Vernon's mother. Dudley stroked his jaw, realizing that he had the same as the man in the picture. The woman had his father's eyes, or perhaps he should say that Vernon had hers. He had the same straight hair as the man, parted it in the same place. The picture was browned and yellowed with age,s o he couldn't tell the color, but Dudley suspected that it was the same color as his. He returned the picture to its pile and pulled the tray out of the top of the trunk, carefully setting it aside. Inside were khaki pants; shirts of khaki, white and shades in between; black and brown shoes as well as three pairs of sturdy leather boots, the kind worn by soldiers or heavy laborers in rough terrain; and a leather bag that matched the one the man in the picture was wearing. The bag itself contained several journals and letters that Dudley tucked away for later. He reached down deep into the trunk and pulled out a leather jacket. He held it up to the faint light of the moon filtering through the tiny skylight. Almost on instinct he slid first one arm then the other and pulled it snug across his shoulders. The jacket, old brown leather, slightly stiff with age and disuse, fit over his torso like a second skin that had been missing for years. It needed some oil and some care, but he was willing to put the time in.

He looked at the collection and realized three things were missing, but other than a hat, he couldn't quite grasp the others, just that they were missing. He just knew that you never leave your hat behind. Even if there's a snake.

Why did it always have to be snakes?

Coming to a quick decision, he replaced the clothing inside, replaced the tray and closed the lid. There'd be enough time for the other things later, hopefully. He hefted the trunk by the handles and made his way perilously down the attic steps and into the hallway. He set the heavy case down on the carpet.

The new carpet.

He glanced down the hallway to where he watched his father get shot. Three times in the chest up close. A silencer. Pew! Pew! Pew! Blood was all over the carpet. The brown carpet.

There was a new carpet. _White_.

The now thin young man glanced around and noticed the other changes. New wallpaper where blood had splattered. Roses instead of stripes. A coat of paint where his mother had slid down the wall. White instead of cream. There probably wasn't even an investigation. If Abstergo was as powerful as he and Harry suspected, they could have easily covered this up. Given his parents a "vacation" and have them disappear or some other scenario. By then the trail would be long since cold. Even the memory of a clue would be fuzzy if it existed at all.

His tears were long since shed. The old Dudley would have never noticed these changes. He grew up quick. He was mature enough now to recognize his faults of his previous existence. Living another man's life had changed him just as it had changed Harry. It wasn't that he was smarter, just more conscious of the need for education and intelligence. He was finally using what he had. And he wasn't satisfied with the world his father wanted him to have.

He understood now that his father was a bully. He also understood that until recently, so was he. Dudley was an expert boxer, but a low performer when it came to academics. He had almost no chance at university. He was set to be a middle manager at another firm, probably the same one his father had spent his entire adult life working for. Dudley looked back at his father's complaints of being passed up for promotion after a certain point. At the time, Dudley couldn't be bothered to care so long as he was still the apple of his father's eye. But he wasn't the same person anymore. He wasn't the spoiled brat that used to go Harry Hunting or beat up younger kids for money. Hell, he wasn't even the guy who escaped Abstergo a week ago.

He scratched his forehead as he glanced at the place where the changes began. The first step from the top, cut cleanly. Everything was planned. And then they wanted the Sankara Stones. He didn't know what for, but he suspected they were up to no good. Luckily for everyone involved, his ancestor came by a plane he wasn't flying himself. They had a few landmarks, but hopefully not enough to find the Stones.

There was nothing he could do about it, so he marched right back to the attic with the intent of closing up. Having pulled his new trunk out of the room, he noticed another stacked deeply underneath three other boxes. It was old, enameled wood with Romanesque leaves and flowers curling along the edges and corners. The latch was old, formerly gold, but the gold flecked off in places, allowing the iron underneath to rust, though not all the way through. The latch was stuck, but he pulled it down stairs anyway and loaded it with his own trunk.

He went into his old room and glanced around. A boxing trophy, a few medals for the same sport, clothing that could now fit two of him, a bunch of broken things. Dudley turned around and closed the door. Walking down the hall, he grabbed pictures of his family, pulling them off the wall and wrapping them in an old shirt. He stacked them atop his trunk, one after another until the walls were bare.

"Dudley," Harry said from the door to his room. "What are you doing?"

"I'm taking them with me," he said, gesturing to the trunk, the box and the framed photographs. Harry looked at his cousin and then down at the huge stack. After a long moment of staring at his cousin, Harry sighed and waved Dudley into his room.

"Come on, there should be enough room in my trunk," the dark haired young man said with an understanding tone. He knew what it was like to lose family. After the photos were packed, they dragged the trunks and box down to the street. Dudley looked to his cousin, then back at the house he grew up in. Harry sighed. "You know we can't stay here."

Dudley paused before replying.

"I know," he said. "But I didn't even have a funeral."

"Neither did I, Dudley," Harry said as he lifted his wand. There was an explosive sound and suddenly, without any exposition or warning, the most hideous bus Dudley had ever had the misfortune of seeing. It was three stories tall, purple, dented and battered with patches where the paint had clearly been scraped off.

"We're riding in _this_?" Dudley asked in a tone that suggested a mood somewhere between incredulity and horror.

"This is the Knight Bus," Harry explained. "The only easy way to travel if you don't have a Portkey or an apparation license."

"oookaaay," Dudley said, stretching out the word as he glanced at the opening doors with raised eyebrows.

They climbed inside, Stan helping with the gear, and Harry paid for the both of them, splurging for the hot chocolate, tooth brush, and hot water bottle. Dudley held his up with an expression that was perfectly clear: "What the fuck?" Harry just shrugged and explained that this was how it works on the Knight Bus.

"Where to, Harry?" the driver asked. Harry went over the possibilities in his head. The most logical was the Burrow, but he didn't want to intrude.

"Diagon Alley," Harry said. "Or the Cauldron, either one is fine."

"Alright! Leaky Cauldron, next stop!"

* * *

Dudley discovered that there were worse experiences with magical travel than the squeezing tube effect of the Portkey. The teen felt like he'd just lost a match against a super-heavy weight champion and then been used as karate master's punching bag before being run over by a zamboni. He was pretty sure that Harry's trunk, having slid free during the trip, was the sharp pain in his spleen, and that the small enameled box was what had forced his neck into such an unnatural position. He wiggled his fingers just to make sure he wasn't paralyzed before extricating himself from the pile of luggage.

"That was..." Dudley trailed off as he tried to figure out exactly what the key word was for the experience.

"Unpleasant?" Harry suggested, lifting Dudley's trunk off his head.

"The Leaky Cauldron!" Stan proudly proclaimed.

"Thank god!" Dudley muttered as he hauled his trunk out the back door. Harry, a little more polite, waved thanks to the keepers of the bus and followed his cousin off.

"Now where is this pub?" Dudley asked. The Leaky Cauldron was invisible to his muggle nature, though being around magic was making it easier and easier for him to get used to the changes it brought. Harry set his hand on his taller cousin's shoulder and suddenly the pub came into view. Once inside they found it strangely quiet. Harry was used to having all eyes on him, but this was different. There was no one there to shake his hand (not that he really wanted the attention), there was no one tipping their hats or greeting him as they usually did. Their eyes followed him and his cousin as the two made their way to the bar. Tom, the creaky landlord of the place, looked like Igor's little brother, freshly out of some mad scientist's lair.

"Hello Tom. What's going on?" Harry asked, nodding to the crowd who was still eying him suspiciously.

"Mind you, I don't believe what the Prophet says, but lots people do," Tom began. "Minister's saying bad things 'bout you an' Dumbledore."

"Yes, I'd been given a heads up, but I wasn't aware that it was this bad, or that people believed the old windbag," Harry replied. "Fudge is an idiot and worse, he's a useless idiot who loves being in Malfoy's pocket."

"Hey! What're you looking at?" Dudley challenged, looking one flamboyantly dressed wizard in the eye. The man and several others nearby tensed up for a moment before packing up their things to leave. "That's right. Cowards."

"Dudley..." Harry chided, not bothering to lower his voice.

"What?"

"They're scared," Harry said, making sure his voice was heard by everyone in the pub. "Most of them know a mass murder's back and calling up his old minions, but they're too scared to do anything about it. They should know sticking their heads in the sand won't work, but they're doing it anyways."

"Just because you can't see the knife that kills you, doesn't mean it won't kill you," Dudley said.

"Precisely, my point," Harry said. "But taunting them just makes it worse."

They noticed that a few people in the back were looking guilty. Good.

"We've just got some business in the Alley, Tom," Harry said.

The landlord nodded. "You know where it is, Harry."

"I know," Harry said. "The same place it's been for the last five hundred years."

"Not quite five hundred yet," Tom replied with a small smile.

"Right," Harry said. "Not quite."

* * *

Dudley easily contained his excitement at the opening of the wall, having memories of more dramatic things happening in an ancestor's memories. As soon as they were through and the wall closed back up, Dudley jabbed a thumb over his shoulder back towards the Cauldron.

"Did you see the menu? It's all soup, all the same bloody thing!" Dudley said. "I half expected a bunch of vikings to show up singing about Spam with all the repetition."

"What Dudley, you don't like a good ole' Soup, soup, soup, spam and soup?" Harry inquired with a raised eyebrow. Dudley paused and looked askance at his cousin.

"...that's not a real meal is it?" he asked after a long pause.

"Here, you never know," Harry said before marching down the street towards Madame Malkin's. He pointedly ignored the looks people were giving him and walked with his head held high. He didn't give off an appearance of arrogance, just self assured nature, as if he was right and nothing was going to dissuade him. Outside the bookstore he paused and smirked, remembering back to before second year. "At least this time I'm not going to be assaulted by fans."

"Was that actually a problem?" Dudley asked.

"I wish it hadn't been," Harry replied as he opened the door to Madame Malkin's.

"Why are we in here?" Dudley asked, dragging the trunk behind him. He glanced about the store and saw nothing but pieces of clothing what looked like dresses crossed with muumuus that then got drunk and knocked up a wardrobe at a Renaissance fair.

"If you're going to blend in, you need to look the part," Harry said.

Dudley pulled back a sleeve of a red-plum thing with more frills than could possibly be necessary. "Do women really wear this stuff?"

"No, actually," Harry said, "Because that's the men's rack."

Dudley quickly let the sleeve drop and took a step back.

"Relax, the clothes are for me, not you," Harry said. "And didn't you say you needed a hat?"

"I'll get it," Dudley said. "I just need to find the right one."

"And I need the right set of robes," Harry said.

"Then you've come to the right place, Mr. Potter," Madame Malkin said with just a hint of a smile playing at her lips. Dudley snorted in amusement at his cousin being called "Mr. Potter" but chose instead to start one of the journals he found in his trunk. The proprietress of the establishment sniffed at him before turning back to Harry. "A little early for your school robes, isn't it Mr. Potter?"

"Yes, but I'm hoping to have them today as well," Harry said. "But I have a special request actually. I need a special set of robes."

* * *

_March 23, 1941_

_Dear Diary,_

_ I am not supposed to be writing right now. Our lights are out in the house, but there is always the possibility that a Nazi will see my candle as I write in the shed out back. London is bombed every night it seems. It's getting to the point where I can almost not remember what it was like to sleep through an entire night without the air raid sirens blaring, sending us up from our beds in a flurry of commotion as we try to fit into the tiny shed._

_ Well, Father and George are in the army now, gone somewhere for King and Country, and mother is in the hospital. They think it's cancer. It's just me now in the house. _[There was something more written here, but it was scribbled out. Dudley tried to figure out what it said, but it was too scrambled.]

_ I am taking the suggestion of Mrs. Miller down the street and planting a few seeds in the windows. I hope it is warm enough for them to sprout and hopefully it will be a good summer. We need all the food we can get now. Nearly everyone else is doing the same._

* * *

_March 30, 1941_

_Dear Diary,_

_ The seeds have germinated. Mrs. Miller says they are a type of summer squash called zukini. I think that is how it is spelled. She said that a single plant can produce quite a few squash, but I'plan to plant five such plants just to be sure. I can trade the extras with my neighbors and even give some to the nurses at Mother's hospital. I purchased some tomatoes and will do the same._

_ I checked the potatoes from last year. Their eyes are sprouting and I don't see any mold, so they should be safe for planting another year. I hope Mother isn't too upset about my adjustments to her gardens. She is so proud of them._

* * *

_3 April, 1941_

_Dear Diary,_

_ A man came to the house looking for Father. He was tall, perhaps in his thirties or early forties and quite handsome. An American, the first one I've met, though many of the girls say we'll be meeting more soon enough. He wanted to know about Father's work in Italy after the last war. I told him that I would look into it and get back to him. He smiled and handed me a card._

_ Doctor Henry Jones Jr. PhD_

_ I found father's notes on the Roman and Etruscan digs, as well as my own when I assisted him. I might give this Dr. Jones a call._

* * *

"So," Harry said. "What do you think?"

Dudley looked up to see his cousin dressed in a rather strange outfit. While it could still be considered to be robes, it was unlike any of the others. It was white, first of all, with accents of red inside the hood, thin strips on each shoulder and on the barest edge of the torso which was mostly covered up by a wide leather belt that was almost large enough to qualify for a Classical girdle. The hood was peaked, like the beak of a raptor and seemed to stay in place no matter how Harry moved his head. The teen's face was in shadow save for the lowest part along his mouth and served to give him an almost faceless identity. The robes were cut off at the shoulders, allowing Harry's arms freedom with the white shirt he wore under the robes visible from shoulder to wrist. The lowest part of the robes were just above the knees and sharpened into points that gave the impression of grasping claws. His pants were black and fitted into leather boots the color of English muck. The final effect was taking Renaissance styles, tweaking them a bit and cranking up the awesome.

"Those are..." Dudley wanted to make some snide comment, but he trailed off, and went with the rather rare choice for Dudley, an honest opinion. "Those are pretty fucking badass."

"Why thank you, Dudley," Harry replied, the corner of his mouth quirking up. "It gets better."

Harry muttered something under his breath and the robes shifted into a hoody vest and denim jeans with a pair of sturdy work boots.

"Damn," Dudley said. "Talk about useful."

"I think I'll blend in well," Harry said, plucking at the sleeves of his shirt. He said a few more words and was suddenly in the original robe form. He looked to Madame Malkin who was looking over him apraisingly. "I'll take three more sets. Different colors though instead of white. I'm thinking black, green, red and...blue."

"I'll have them for you soon," she replied. "You can pick them up in a few hours with your school robes."

"Thank you, should I pay now?" Harry asked.

"_Mr. Potter_," she said sternly, making him feel like a very small child. "Every Potter who has ever ordered from me has _always_ paid their bills on delivery, I won't change the rules just because the Minister is an idiot."

"Thank you, Madame," Harry said, giving her a gracious little bow. Both she and Dudley rolled their eyes at the display. Her eyes flicked to Dudley, looking him up and down.

"You said you were looking for a hat?" she asked.

The formerly large boy perked up at that. "Yes?"

"We have quite a selection, if you'd like to peruse them," she prompted. "I do sell more than just robes, after all."

Dudley glanced at his cousin. Harry laughed a little and nodded for him to go.

"I need to go to the bank," Harry said. "Pick out what you want, I'll be back with a bag of gold."

"This gold isn't going to talk, or spit at me or sprout feet and run around, is it?" Dudley asked, only half joking.

"I certainly hope not," Harry said. "I was planning on spending it."

The dark haired boy gave his cousin a nod and slipped out the door, almost instantly blending in with the crowd. Harry noticed immediately the change in behavior around him. They didn't recognize him any more. There weren't any looks in his direction, positive or negative. He kept his head tucked down slightly and his hands together in front of him as he noticed a familiar blond man walk out of a certain side alley. Lucius Malfoy walked within a foot of him and the man never even noticed.

The temptation for an assassination was so strong. He remembered the graveyard. Those faces half hidden in the mist even after Voldemort pulled their masks off. But Harry knew there was no direct exit right now. He needed to learn the layout better. This was, after all, only one in a handful of visits to the Alley that he could remember and most of those visits he had been too distracted to focus on the layout.

Most students by his age would have probably made many such trips, even if they didn't come to buy anything. Harry had only his parents knowledge of the Alley. It was ironic that Voldemort's knowledge, when Harry felt confident enough to go through those memories, had few experiences with the Alley until he was out of school, even less than Harry himself, in fact.

Harry kept going, making sure to blend with the crowd. He slipped behind group and switched often, moving closer and closer to the Bank. About half way there he got the whim to try to truly see them. He concentrated on his memories of Ezio, of the knowledge he possessed. He could feel it happening. One moment there was the bustle of the crowd and everyone moving, the next, he was seeing everything and more. The majority of people sort of bled into the background as unimportant. Lucius, making his way down towards the Ministry, glowed a bright blood red as did the three men who walked vaguely in the same direction. He could see beyond them, a flash of gold, but he couldn't make out who it was. Occasionally through the crowd certain people seemed a brighter blue.

He took note of their appearance and relaxed his vision. Pulling his cloak over his shoulder, he started blending with the crowd once more and before long he was in the bank. He waited patiently for an opening, choosing not to stand out until he swooped in to an open space.

"Hello, good sir goblin," Harry said, setting his key on the desk. "I would like to visit my vault, if it isn't any inconvenience."

The goblin paused, looked at the key and then up into the hood. He sighed. "Very well, Mr. Potter."

* * *

One exhilarating trip later, he had his bag of gold. He slipped one to the goblin and went along his way, carefully tucking the bag into a pocket inside his new robes. He wove through the crowds, only noticing a suddenly familiar, if older, face making a sharp turn into Knocturn Alley. It took Harry a moment to realize whose memories he had.

Then he remembered. Yaxley.

The Death Eater had never even been accused after the last war according to some research he had done while recuperating at the Delacour Villa. The man was not one to show up in the grave yard, but Harry knew exactly who he was. When his mother was fifteen, the man had cursed her when she went down the wrong alley. He only got one spell off, Alice and Frank showed up just in time to save her, but the man was gone. His mother hadn't been able to give a positive ID. Harry, on the other hand, had another source of information.

The thoughts and memories were greatly cut off due to his careful compartmentalization of his mind and those others, but one set continued to bleed through. He would see someone, but it would be them twenty years younger or more. He knew the entire inner circle by sight. He knew their names. He knew their vault numbers, their siblings, their children if they had them then and their place of residence at the time. Harry was willing to bet that aside from the children, and knowing how stagnant Wizarding society had become, that almost all addresses were still current.

Harry felt the same impulse that he had forced down when Lucius walked by him earlier, but this time he gave in. He walked into the alley after the Ministry Death Eater. He blended with the crowds, people seeming to not notice the man dressed in bright white and red in the middle of a crowd where everyone wore black or brown. He kept his head low to disguise his face, but high enough to keep an eye on the target.

With our inherent poor night vision, we humans have an instinctive fear of the dark. In poor light branches turn into clawed arms; a settling of a house turns into a monster in the hall. The fear is natural and eventually as we grow older, we learn to cope with it. But Knocturn Alley was aptly named. Where as Diagon was open to the sky, Knocturn had been built upon and those buildings built upon and those built upon until the actual street was more of a tunnel. Only the barest of slivers actually separated one side of the alley from the other. Light filtered through, but it was diffuse, weak. The smells and sounds of the alley seemed so much louder, darker, more twisted, as they do in darkness to humans. Witches turn into Hags. Wizards into Warlocks. What would be a grandmotherly chuckle in Diagon, is transformed, warped into a fiendish cackle. This fear allowed Knocturn to protect its interests. It wielded its fear through the Wizarding World like a scythe in a wheat field.

Eagles have always flown above the fields, watching their prey from the sky with eyes that can see a fish under the water, a rabbit hidden amongst swaths of wheat.

Eventually the alley opened up a bit. Acting on a whim, Harry jumped and caught a hold of a windowsill on the second floor. With a deep breath, he pulled himself up and caught the next handhold. Soon he was stealthily striding across the roof, his prey caught below him. The alley took a sharp right turn and in those shadows, secluded from the others, Harry flew from above, striking his prey like an eagle snatching a fish from the water. Yaxley collapsed, the wind out of his lungs as his mind struggled to keep up. He was dragged into a dark, deserted corner and beaten. The blows came one after another after another. His wand flew from his grasp as he feebly tried to cast a spell. He felt his left scapula shatter under the impact of a boot. His clavicle followed along with his arms, knees and legs. His assailant spread his fingers on the ground and mercilessly stomped on them, breaking ever bone up to his elbow.

He screamed.

Unfortunately for him, screams aren't that uncommon in Knockturn Alley.

The hooded man in white never struck his jaw, never punched him in the crotch, but every extremity other than his head was broken almost beyond recognition. Eventually the hardened Death Eater, the torturer, the murder, could do nothing but sob helplessly. Tears streamed down his face.

"Why?" he asked. "Why?"

"You cursed my mother, Yaxley," Harry said, holding Yaxley's head up by his receding hair. All the man could see was a white hood gleaming in the moonlight with darkness within. Harry began again, but his voice was not his own; Ezio spoke through him, the assassin's Italian accent thick, but clear. "I cannot forget that. One day I will return for you. I will come for you and all your friends. The snake in the grass cannot escape the eagle on the wing."

"Why?" Yaxley sobbed. "Why let me live?"

"My name is Ezio Auditore da Firenze," Harry whispered in the man's ear. "Your master killed my father. He should prepare to die. Tell him Aquila comes for him. Tell him that soon he will rest in peace."

He stood up, his face still hidden in shadows while his eagle peaked hood shown bright in the slivers of light filtering down between the overcrowded street.

"Just remember, Yaxley," the man said, looking down at him. "Nothing is true, but everything in permitted."

Yaxley blinked, and the man was gone.

* * *

Harry took a deep breath as he fled the scene. He didn't think he had it in him. He knew that he could kill if he had to, but there was no reason for that. He had just brutalized a man for...for a good reason. Harry, high above the street, sat down on the roof to catch his breath. Voldemort had held the fear for too long.

Harry had the inspiration then. He couldn't go back to who he was before. He was complacent, unmotivated. He had to stop them. They had taken too many lives and escaped without even a slap on the wrist. And now Voldemort was back to lead them.

'I called myself Aquila,' Harry thought to himself as he looked across the London skyline. Big Ben tolled the hour as he watched. 'The Eagle.'

He thought about it. Eagle was a perfectly good cover for him. They would naturally suspect a Ravenclaw, although why they were called "Eagles" and not "Ravens" was beyond him. While it showed courage, he'd been obtuse, unclear in his meanings and words. He used imagery easily mistaken for Hogwarts houses.

He had just declared war against Voldemort.

No, _he_ hadn't.

_Ezio_ had.

A man who was dead for nearly five hundred years had just declared war on the Death Eaters.

Harry couldn't help himself but laugh at the absurdity of the situation. It was moments like these, when his emotions shifted like waves on the shore and he found humor in the darkest corners of reality. What was reality but one's subjective view of the world?

He climbed to his feet. Dudley was probably waiting for him at Madame Malkins. I wonder if she managed to talk him into a set of robes,' Harry mused as he dropped to street level in a shadowy corner near the shop. Once more he blended into the crowd, only stepping out when they reached the doorway.

* * *

"How is everything?" he asked. Madame Malkin looked up from her work, and nodded to a back room.

"I think your cousin underestimated the size of my stock of hats," she said with a wry smile. Harry smiled to the older woman and slipped into the room where Dudley was up to his waist in hats.

"Having trouble deciding?" Harry asked.

"I know I said I wanted a hat, but this is excessive," Dudley said, gesturing to the piles around him. "And they're all hundreds of years older than what I'm looking for."

"And yet, I bet they are the latest fashions in the wizarding world," Harry commented dryly. Harry picked up a bright purple hat with a stuffed white ferret on it. "How 'bout this one?"

Dudley just looked at his cousin like he was insane.

"Actually, I'm going to get this just for the ferret," Harry said with a bemused smile.

"Do you know anywhere I could find a bullwhip in this place?" Dudley asked.

"No, but we can ask Madame Malkin," Harry said. "Why a bullwhip?"

"You have a wand as a signature tool," Dudley said. "My ancestor used a bullwhip and a pistol. I figured I'd go with the one that's less likely to get me in trouble with the law."

"Fair enough," Harry replied. "Maybe you need a specially made hat?"

"I'm thinking so," Dudley replied

They walked to the door where Madame Malkin was working on the last of Harry's outfits. "Find something you like?"

"Yes, I'll be taking this," Harry said, holding up the purple ferret hat. "Dudley needs a more specific hat. Do you make those, or outsource?"

"My assistant is better at it than me, but we might be able to work something out," the woman said, as she tied off the last thread in Harry's blue outfit. She held it up. "There you go."

Harry gave her a little bow in thanks. With a smirk, the woman waved her wand and the robes folded themselves into neat little parcels that then tied themselves up. Harry tucked them quickly into his trunk as Madame Malkin started getting dimensions and descriptions of Dudley's fedora. She started waving her wand, summoning up an illusion of the hat, changing it in real time as Dudley describe it further. The brim bent a certain way, the color changed slightly. The indentations on the top changed. Dudley didn't want it new. He wanted older, wore, but still stable. He wanted it familiar. He gave more and more suggestions until the result was a fedora, a dark brown with a slightly lighter ribbon along the brim. It was taller than most of its kind, but not by much, with a wide brim that kept the face partially hidden in shadows, allowing rain and other falling liquids to slide away from his face and ears, dripping either forward of back. It seemed to fit perfectly with his jacket for some reason.

"Perfect," Dudley said with reverence. It took less than five minutes for the woman to force the felt and leather into the shape he wanted. She nodded when she was done and motioned for him to try it on. "Could you make it...I don't know, a little less firm? Malleable? But able to pop back into the right shape?"

"Easily," she said. Madame Malkin was, after all, the undisputed master of her craft. A flick off her wand later, the fedora was exactly as requested.

"Now," Harry said with a smile. "How much?"

* * *

They were back on the street again, this time coming out of another shop.

"Why do they have an entire shop dedicated to the care of gigantic predators that aren't even common in this country?" Dudley asked.

"Dudley," Harry said slowly. "I supposedly live in this culture and I don't understand it. But you got your whip."

"True, but a dragon hide dragonwhip was not what I was expecting," Dudley said, straightening his hat on his head.

"Where to next?" Harry said. "Might as well go back to Gringott's."

"Gringott's?"

"The bank," Harry explained. "Either that or call up somebody on the Floo, but I don't want to impose on anyone."

"We do need a place to stay," Dudley reminded him.

"I'm seriously considering buying a flat for a safehouse," Harry said.

"You've got that much?"

Harry nodded as they walked. "And more. My parents left me plenty."

Dudley was silent for a moment. "And so did mine."

"Oh, sorry," Harry said.

"No," Dudley said, holding up a hand to stop him. "I need to get used to it." He clenched his fists. "It's just...no funeral. No graves. Only a few pictures to remember them by."

"I know how it feels," Harry said.

Dudley was silent for a moment.

"I'm not sure I can be Dudley Dursley any more."

Before Harry could say anything more, his cousin turned and started dragging his trunk back towards the Cauldron.

* * *

"Harry pulled his head out of the green flames. "No one at the Burrow," he muttered. "I guess we'll take rooms if you've got 'em, Tom."

The landlord nodded and handed them two keys. "Adjorning rooms, right up those stairs."

Harry and Dudley trudged up the stairs, hauling the trunks with them. You couldn't say they weren't getting their exercise. They opened the door to the first room.

"This is the room?" Dudley asked. "It looks like it was-"

"Dudley," Harry said in a cautious tone. "Don't insult the room."

"The room? But it looks-"

"-Perfectly fine!" Harry said in faux cheer. He shot a warning look at his cousin and nodded to the room. He leaned in close and hissed. "Don't insult the room. You'll never hear the end of it."

"How? Tom?"

"The mirror!"

"You mean like mirror, mirror-"

"Yes, precisely! Don't insult the room!" Harry cautioned once more. "Just go in, be polite and go to sleep."

Dudley rolled his eyes but did as he was bid. He leaned back on the ancient, worn mattress that looked like it was as old as the Leaky Cauldron itself. He closed his eyes and then he was someone else.

* * *

He was running. The boulder had just crashed out of the wall behind the idol stand and it was like the entire temple had awoken with the express intent to kill him. Poison darts flying out of walls, giant boulders trying to crush him into paste.

* * *

He came out of the stone passageway only to find a gigantic chasm much wider than he could walk. He glanced down and gulped as the depths were hidden deep in shadow, much farther than he could see. Reaching into a pocket, he grabbed a handful of some white substance and revealed the invisible passage. Gathering up his courage, he walked out across the walkway, keeping faith that it existed.

* * *

He saw the Ibex across the field. He could hear the hunters lift their rifles and aim. He watched the rare beasts fall one by one. In a fit of courage and pain at the loss of such animals, he pushed the former president's gun away.

"That's enough! No more! You don't need any more!"

Teddy Roosevelt looked down at him, a little angry at first, but that quickly shifted to a more grandfatherly expression.

"Right," the former president said. "That's enough. Especially with only so few of them."

* * *

He was teaching a class. He blathered on about some anthropologist or other, some process that needed to be taken, but he kept getting distracted. The pretty girl in the front row, who he knew was WAY too young for him, kept blinking. Something was written on her eyelids. He stretched forward to get a better read, but the bell rang, signaling the end of class. He told them something about what to read for next time.

Inside he kept hoping for something more interesting to happen.

* * *

"Once again Dr. Jones," said the smarmy man in the white hat, "we see that there is nothing you can possess, that I cannot take away."

"Belloq!" he swore as the man took the idol away with his native friends keeping oh so dangerous bows aimed at his head.

* * *

A room away, Harry was having a similar experience, though not nearly so sane. Harry had too many people in his head. At times he was his mother, playing with a familiar looking boy she called Sev. Other times he was his father, messing around with the Marauders and doing their thing. Then he was Ezio, fighting hand to hand against a Pope, which was, ironically, one of the most strange memories he experienced. At other times he was another ancestor, Altaiir, an assassin during the Crusades. He saw fights during the wars, during the uprisings in Italy during the 15th and early 16th centuries; the crusades from a near native and from a Templar invader; the battles with Voldemort, who took sadistic pleasure in forcing muggles into human shields.

Twice this worked at keeping his mother from killing the scaly bastard. She was close, oh so close, but the piece of shit imperioed some poor woman or child or man and had them attack her physically. The second time it had taken an apparation just to escape as she wouldn't allow herself to curse innocents, no matter what they were doing to her.

And then he had his memories of gleefully sending the innocents _at_ his mother. Voldemorts memories were infrequent, but they were stark, unnatural, and so different, so _inhuman_, that they stood out blatantly from the others. They were sharp like broken glass against his mind. When he was awake, they could be blocked. Occlumency allowed him to filter them, to partition those memories from his waking mind.

Every time he remembered killing his own parents and then casting a killing curse at his own infant form, Harry awoke in a cold sweat. He heaved, spilling the contents of his stomach into the nearby bin. That was the first time that night. That memory was particularly tenacious and popped up several times a night.

Harry was getting better at separating them when he was awake, but that all failed when he was asleep. The memories blended with dreams, experiences with experiences, his own and others, until their juxtaposition was an illusion and sanity a memory. It was getting harder and harder for him to filter them out and nights like this only made it worse.

* * *

_Author's explanation: This was a great idea. In fact, I thought it was such a great idea that I wrote almost thirty pages on it. Unfortunately, I had too many ideas, and too few hours of time I could dedicate to this. I think someday I might come back ot this idea since a Harry Potter/Assassin's Creed/Indiana Jones idea seems to work so well and yet is so unusual. But I just don't have time to dedicate to another story on the same epic scope as some of my others. So, someday, somehow, this might get some more, but for now it's just a very long false start._

_I really like the Assassin's Creed universe. It has a richness that seems to both fit in the real world and stand apart at the same time. I tried to blend it with Harry Potter and that worked pretty well and then Indiana Jones just kind of slipped in there somehow. It was going to progress quite differently than much of my other works with Dudley and Fleur (strange pairing, I know, one I'm sure isn't used much) fighting Abstergo, while Harry lives a double life as Aquila fighting the Death Eaters. Blaise Zabini was planned to have been part of the remaining Pazzi family and would cut off his connections to Death Eater families since they had long memories of what Assassin's could do if left to their own devices. I wasn't sure about how relationships for Harry would progress, except that he would abruptly start shifting personality, forgetting who he was at times. I'd planned to have him, using James Potter's experiences to interrogate Sirius and Remus, but as you can see, that never happened.  
_

_I don't own Harry Potter, Assassin's Creed or Indiana Jones._


	10. Harry's Second

"Oh woe is me!" Harry said dramatically as he fell to the floor and clutched his intentionally stubbed toe. "I am wounded!"

"Harry, what nonsense are you spouting?" Hermione asked sternly, her brow furrowed at his antics.

"Page 34, paragraph 4, line 7," Harry said, dropping his poor acting to pass her a book.

"The Tri-Wizard Guidelines and Standards Book?" Hermione asked, flipping to the suggested page. "'A Tri-Wizard champion may, if suffering a wound, appoint a second to preform the task.' Okay, Harry, I can see the importance of this, but what is with the bad acting? You just intentionally stubbed your toe."

"Doesn't specify how bad the wound had to be. I was trying for a papercut, but parchment doesn't work so well. Too thick and rough around the edges," Harry explained.

"Harry! That's brilliant!" Hermione said with a wide smile. Harry turned back towards the wall and kicked the stone once more.

"Sorry, the pain had lessened," Harry replied.

* * *

"Headmaster!" Harry said, standing up in the Great Hall.

"Yes, Harry my boy?" the old man said.

"As per the Tri-Wizard Guidelines and Standards Book, page 34, paragraph 4, line 7, I, Harry James Potter, having suffered a wound, do name Draco Malfoy as my Second in the tournament," Harry said in a loud voice so all could hear him. His best friend quickly hexed Ron to keep the boy's explosive temper and stupidity in check. Harry glanced to the Slytherin table where Draco was trying to find a medium between his ego and worry about where Potter was going with this.

"A wound?" McGonagall asked as the three school heads flipped through their own copies of the Tri-Wizard Guidelines and Standards Book.

"Oh, yes, and Madame Pomfrey can attest to it," Harry replied. Heads turned to the school nurse who shrugged.

"I agree, that yes, Mr. Potter did receive a wound today," she admitted.

"What kind of wound?" the Durmstrang Headmaster asked.

"That doesn't matter, only that I received one," Harry pointed out.

"Mr. Potter is correct, if he suffered a wound, he is allowed to name a Second," the Beauxbatons Headmistress agreed, running her finger along the line in the guide book for her fellow Heads to read.

"Harry, my boy, are you really sure you want to do this?" Dumbledore asked.

"It's a magically binding contract," Harry said sadly, adding an innocent shrug. "It's already done."

"Very well, Draco Malfoy, you will take Mr. Potter's place in the event this afternoon," Ludo Bagman said sadly, thinking of all the galleons he was going to lose, having bet on Harry Potter the day before.

"Potter!" Snape bellowed.

"Sorry, Professor, magically binding contract," Harry replied with a shrug. "It's not my problem anymore. But remember that professors are forbidden from assisting the champions."

"Very well, Champions, you'd best move to the tents, everyone else, eat up and move to the stadium!" Dumbledore said with a clap of his hands.

* * *

"Bloody Hell, Harry!" Ron said when Hermione finally removed the silencing spell.

"Language!"

"Hmm?" Harry inquired of his redhaired friend. The crowd was booing and cheering for Fleur Delacour who had not done as well as some expected.

"Malfoy!" Ron yelled. Harry glanced down at the blond figure being pushed out of the tent. Even from the stands the boy was visibly shivering in fear.

"Oh, there he is," Harry said. "What about him?"

"If you were going to choose a Second, why didn't you choose me?" Ron demanded.

"Ronald," Hermione said as the Hungarian Horntail set Draco's robes on fire, "people have _died _in this tournament!"

"Oh," said Ron numbly as the Hungarian Horntail ate barbeque Slytherin.

"Crap," Harry commented as he watched the Death of Draco Malfoy. "Now I need another Second."

* * *

Colin Creevy ran up to Harry Potter with an oddly shaped bundle tied up in a pillow case.

"It's all there, the negatives, the prints, the unauthorized images, the napkin I took from the table my first year, my first camera, my second camera, the undeveloped film," Colin said as he thrust the bundle into Harry's arms.

"What's this?"

"It's everything," Colin said. "And I'd like to say, I'm really, really, really sorry about taking those pictures and I never believed you put your name in that goblet and I never believed you were the Heir of Slytherin and I really, really, really hope you won't pick me for your second Second."

"Uh..." Harry said, momentarily stunned.

"Don't worry, Colin," Hermione put in, "Harry would never put a third year in this tournament."

"Oh thank goodness!" Colin said. "In that case, can I have my cameras back? I mean, you can keep the rest, but-"

"Fine, here," Harry said, handing the bundle back.

"Bloody Hell!"

"Language!"

"That's the third one today!" Ron exclaimed in shock.

"I do hope you aren't going to agree to Parkinson's offer," Hermione said with a huff. Harry and Ron's eyes glazed for a second as they remembered how specific and detailed Pansy Parkinson's very explicit offer in exchange for immunity had been. Hermione huffed once more. "Boys!"

"Huh?" both her friends asked as her stern tone shook them from their revery.

"Let's just go to the Great Hall," she commanded, pushing them forward. As they walked in, there wasn't a "Potter Stinks" badge to be seen, but half the people looked at him with fear, the other half chose to keep their heads buried in the latest edition of the Daily Prophet. Harry glanced at one of the news papers and blanched. He reached out and grabbed one from Katie Bell who let out a burst of protest before sputtering out an apology.

"_'Potter Murders Malfoy Heir?'_What kind of crap is this? Draco was always claiming purebloods were naturally superior, I was just giving him a chance to prove it!" Harry practically screamed. He glanced over the article, Hermione reading over his shoulder. "Rita Skeeter... Hermione, I have a letter to send."

_"Dear Ms. Skeeter,_

_I would like to inform you that I am in need of a new Second as my original choice proved to be quite incompetent. However, your article has brought your name to my attention. I just thought you would like to know._

_Sincerely,_

_Harry James Potter"_

* * *

The next morning, for the first time in history, the Daily Prophet printed a front page retraction and apology.

"Damn, now I'd feel bad if I chose her," Harry said as he read the new article. He glanced up at his friends. "This tournament is harder than I thought it would be."

* * *

AN: I might expand this, but for now it'll have to be this little plot orphan. Maybe I'll add some more in the future.


	11. Survivor

**Harry Potter: Survivor**

* * *

My name is Harry Potter and I am a survivor.

I might be other things: male, English, white, a wizard. But none of these matter except that I am a survivor.

It's been five years now. Five years to the day. Hard to believe some times.

It's been five years since what other survivors have taken to calling "M-Day."

M-Day isn't a time for celebration. There were no great and terrible battles fought that day. It was, weather wise, quite typical for Britain: temperatures well within the average range, smatterings of sun, clouds and rain. It was also the most devastating day of my entire life. Even the day my parents were offed doesn't compare to M-Day.

Five years ago magic ceased to exist for 27.347 minutes.

Now, for most people that doesn't seem like a big deal. Not even a half an hour, who cares about how you can't wiggle your wand for a time? Well, that doesn't take into effect the shear stupidity of how the magical world operated. All magic was effected by some kind of disjunction. It wasn't a blink or an on/off switch. For those 27.347 minutes it did not exist. All enchanted objects lost all enchantments. All wards came down. All protective spells were disrupted. Any personal magical effects vanished. When magic returned 27.347 minutes later, these did not go back up. They remained as if they had never been enchanted in the first place.

Now, I could talk about all the magical items we lost and how sad it is, but truth be told, I don't really give a damn about that.

Because M-Day was when the magical world died for one simple, overused charm.

The thrice-be-damned undetectable expansion charm.

It was used commonly in houses. Need a new room? Throw up some expansion charms and conjure a few walls!

Well, those got canceled as well.

Pretty much every magical building has them. This accounts for how massively large the Ministry of Magic was. The Burrow (which was blessedly empty at the time save for the attic ghoul), was supported primarily by expansion charms.

When M-Day began, those expansion charmed rooms instantly became uncharmed and everything went back to its previous size.

Every person who had the misfortune to be in Hogwarts at the start of the 27.347 minutes was crushed to death. Over half the buildings of Diagon Alley were the result of such charms. Hermione and I were lucky, we were outside the wizard tent. Ron was inside having seconds. He didn't even have enough time to scream.

In an instant, the magical population of Great Britain was decreased by 95%.

Now, it wasn't all bad. Tom Riddle, better known as Voldemort, better known as you-know-who (unless you don't, which makes that last nickname hilarious), was a magical construct that clung to life via horcruxes. That what me, Hermione and Ron were looking for. Well, without magic to sustain them, they vanished as did Tom Riddle. All his anchors for his soul were gone, just replaced by pretty trinkets. His Death Eaters died in great numbers as well since many of them were in Diagon Alley or in their homes where the walls suddenly lost their shape.

The goblins died in countless numbers, the death toll greater than any Rebellion. Gringott's was still a series of subterranean tunnels, but the spells fell that kept out groundwater, and the Thames came rushing in to fill the void. Apparently you could see the sudden drop in water level from any place you could see the river. There were no house elves after those 27.347 minutes. As creatures of pure magic, they could not survive and succumbed to erasure of existence. The Centaurs fared quite well, especially when they no longer had to deal with the massive Acromantula infestation in their forest. While not as magical as house elves, their massive size required quite a bit of magic to keep upright. Gravity did its job and only the smallest of the small survived, making the event positively Darwinian.

The next great shift that occurred had just as devastating an effect even if the death toll was absolutely zero. Absolutely every memory charm failed.

Lockhart aside, the Wizarding World still does tend to hand them out like candy. See a muggleborn kid make a toy glow? Obliviate! See the crazy old lady next door talk to her cats and have the cats talk back? Obliviate? Get blown up by your brother's nephew? Obliviate!

When you consider the massive number of "adjustments" made to keep the magical world secret, you can understand how terrible it was to have every instance pop back up. While we were in England, Wendal and Monica Wilkins went out for dinner, but Mr. and Mrs. Granger went home. Due to the actions of a certain masked and black robed group, there were plenty of muggles out for blood. Marge Dursley was certainly out for my blood and made no less than fifteen attempts at having me arrested for witchcraft, which, by the way, is so far from being a crime in the _real_ Britain it isn't funny. What was funny was the look on her face when I gave my side of things in a court of law. Aunt Marge, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia now reside at Her Majesty's leisure.

Things weren't going so well for the remainder of magicals due to Tommy's homocidal friends. Within hours of getting their memories back, several MPs were pushing to have us all treated like traitors. It wasn't quite racial profiling, but close, magic-profiling? Hermione can give you the details, but it boils down to they wanted to treat all spellcasters the same way. Granted, we'd been pretty careful about hiding, so the only exposure most people had was Tommy's band of merry men. However, the squibs of the more kindly families, the relatives of muggleborns, spouses and other non-magicals in the know, quickly started to speak out in our defense. I liked what one said to the papers: "Calling them all dark wizards is like saying all Scotts play the bagpipes while cutting people up with claymores! It just isn't true!"

Well, Hermione and me? We survived.

There were other survivors as well: Tonks, and Remus who had been taking a walk outside; Susan Bones and the 7th year herbology class; the Slytherin/Gryffindor first year students in their flying lesson; a number of people outside in Hogsmeade and a few in those few houses that didn't use massive amounts of magic in construction. Ginny didn't make it, but Molly, Arthur, Charlie, Fred and George did. Bill died in Shell Cottage while Fleur was sitting on the veranda catching some rays, and we think Percy was in the Ministry when it fell. Bathilda Bagshot, the old woman who wrote "History of Magic" survived, but had to be helped out from under the gigantic snake that tried to pounce on her. Nagini died when the enchantments on her failed. The Knightbus crew happened to be at a stop, so only the driver died. Hagrid survived as he was in the forest. A huge number of former werewolves survived, having spent most of their lives away from civilization since their infection. The rolls of the dead were considered a small price to pay for the cure in their minds. Well, except for Greyback, but well, muggle science has linked him to countless deaths and he was quite easy to apprehend when one cannot use portkeys, spells or transform into a slaughter-machine. There were smatterings of survivors here and there.

We don't know what happened to Azkaban. It just...wasn't there as far as we've been able to tell. It's been different at different times. Sometimes it was a massive stone pillar, or a rectangular keep, or a three story, but still a very large building. It changed and changed and changed over time. Hermione thinks it has something to do with the dementors' presence and overly stressed witches and wizards having late-in-life accidental magic. What we do know is that it doesn't exist anymore. It's not unplottable, as that would have fallen on M-Day, it just isn't there anymore.

Delores Umbridge did not survive M-Day. That particular day, she decided to visit one of her extermination camps for "halfbreeds" and "mudbloods." Well, many of those "mudbloods" learned at least a little on how to fight the muggle way and when one realized the spells weren't working, the whole lot of them rose up in rebellion. Ole Delores and her buddies weren't the most physical fit of people and so were literally trampled underfoot in the prisoners' charge to freedom.

Isn't it ironic that Umbridge's work at rounding up the muggleborns and multi-racials turned into them being the most dominant group of magicals? Hermione and I find it hilarious today, but back then we were still pretty devastated.

We were sure that what happened to Ron was the start of an attack. The tent, unlike most other buildings with expansion charms, was made of cloth, something with less strength than most of what we had inside. The flaps were also open. The collapse of the charms sent loose objects flying out the flaps and threw the cloth as it attempted to shrink inside back to it's proper outer size. I don't really understand the specifics of it, I'm still not very good at extra dimensional physics. But Hermione and I ducked as pots, pans, knives, beds, books and all assorted other things came flying at us. The fact that we suddenly couldn't apparate out or cast spells "confirmed" that theory, so we ran. We ran and we ran and we ran until our lungs burned, our joints ached and we had no energy to take even one more step. No attack came.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: ** I wrote this a while back. It's more of an outline or a list of events, very telling rather than showing. I like the idea, but haven't been able to turn it into anything more than what you see here.


	12. Going to America

_The goal for this one was to make a magical side of the United States that wasn't simply a knock off of Britain. The US has a different culture and different values than Britain, so I wanted to take a stab at it._

_At the same time, I was annoyed by what some other fanfic authors created for their magical America. This is my stab at it. It doesn't have a story right now, just one scene._

_Also, this is not Anti-Britain. This is a US that isn't necessarily "better" than JKR's Magical Britain, just different in ways that make sense to me._

* * *

"Thank you for meeting me so quickly," she asked, sitting nervously in her pants suit in the stark gray office.

"No problem at all, Miss Granger," the man replied as he sat down, setting a manila folder on the desk between them. He wore a black suit with a crisp black tie and a pristine white shirt. He pulled his chair up, leaned forward and clasped his hands together. "Now, Miss Granger, why exactly do you wish to immigrate to the United States?"

Hermione Granger swallowed.

"I was hoping to go to University," she replied, schooling her nervousness from her face. The man gave her a comforting smile as he leaned back and opened up the folder.

"You don't list any on your application, nor any application for an education visa," he said, flipping through the pages. He paused and glanced at one page. "I also noticed you left school at eleven."

She froze slightly.

"Yes, that was the end of my education in the British school system," she replied diplomatically.

"Home schooled?" he asked. She paused, the agreement on the tip of her tongue, but her conscience keeping her from giving voice to the lie. She shook her head instead.

"No, a boarding school. It is unaccredited," she explained.

"Ah," he said, clasping his hands and leaning forward in that friendly way. "Miss Granger, I'm just going to go out and say it. We know you're a witch." Hermione froze as surely as December spit in Alaska. He flipped to a new page. "You attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for seven years. Excellent grades, if rather narrow in scope. Your best friends were Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley. Over the last few years you've been a target of Tom Riddle, the self styled 'Dark Lord' back on the other side of the pond. This is primarily due to your involvement with the afore mentioned Mr. Potter."

"But-"

"-How?" he finished for her. "Miss Granger, the American government is well aware of what goes on in the world."

"Are you..." she trailed off, wondering if this was some kind of elaborate trap.

"I do not possess magic myself, no," the man replied.

"But the International Statute of Secrecy is supposed to prevent that!" she exclaimed, snapping her jaw shut as she realized what she had just done. "The Ministry of Magic enforces it with obliviation."

"Miss Granger," he said sadly, as if talking to his own daughter. "It only takes two countries for something to become 'international.' You might be surprised to know that there is no Wizarding World in the United States."

"What?" she asked. This was counter to everything she had learned about in History of Magic.

"We have no Ministry of Magic, Miss Granger," the man replied. "And even if we did, we'd never call it a 'Ministry.' The only Ministries you'll find in the US are either religious or charitable."

"I don't really understand how this can be," She stated, her brow furrowed slightly in thought. The man sighed and shifted slightly in his chair.

"The United States of America does not allow other nations to claim sovereignty over its soil except in consulates and embassies," the man explained. "There have been attempts. Riddle was one such in the late 1960s when he tried to organize a magical community in opposition to the rightful government. Their rebellion did very little except for incarceration or execution for those involved. The last true 'pureblood' uprising was in Andrew Jackson's time and was crushed utterly. President Jackson was a hard and unforgiving man at times."

"What about Salem?" Hermione asked, eyes wide. "I know they have an internationally recognized school and they even sent people to the Quidditch World Cup in the summer before my fourth year."

"Well, to be perfectly honest, that's a smoke screen," the man replied. "We allow them the illusion of anonymity, but that's only so that we don't have a magical invasion to deal with. If the rest of the world heard that there is no separation between the magical and non-magical in the United States, they might make the very foolish decision to invade. People in my line of work do not appreciate invasions or attacks on our soil."

"Your line of work?" Hermione asked. The man leaned back in his chair and gave her an unreadable look. Then he smiled.

"Think it out," he said. "Your file says your peers referred to you as the most intelligent witch of your age. Think of it as a test."

"You know about magic," Hermione said, keeping her eyes on the man. "Most Americans either don't know about it or don't believe in it. That means you're in a position of power higher than a simple customs agent. You had a file on me that contained much more than I included in my filings or normal records should show." She cocked her head. "You never actually gave me your name. It's been less than an hour, so it's quite possible this isn't even your real face. You say 'my line of work' as if it means something more than simple Customs enforcement. You are a spy, or at least an agent who works in that field."

"Very good, Miss Granger," the man acknowledged. "You used limited information to make a logical conclusion."

"I don't understand how this could have happened. How did America," she paused. "The US was created almost a hundred years after the Statute of Secrecy, how could this be done?"

"Well, to be honest, for those first hundred and fifty years of European occupation, there was very little magical immigration to the North American Colonies, either from Britain or from France," he began. He typed a few keys and the wall glowed, showing a map of North America. "One thing that people tend to forget, especially those from countries much smaller than America, is the size. By the time the Statute of Secrecy was put into place in 1692, by European, North African and Mid-Eastern nations alone, I might add, colonization only extended a short ways inland, several hundred miles at most." He typed a few more keys and the map shifted, showing a political map of the period. "England was in another of those wars with France, and things went back and forth for some time. British magical society was already quite insular at that time. What little they heard was only war and 'uncivilized savages' which did not entice them to make much effort into expanding beyond their borders. The few Hogwarts graduates that did leave were 'muggleborns' who had instead heard of the opportunities. It was still quite easy to bounce back and forth at that time, since most were uneducated and illiterate, 'muggle' occupations requiring little of the extreme specialization and education we have today, as most specialized occupations had magical equivalents that functioned well side by side with their non-magical versions. As such, the colonies did not suffer from cultural stagnation that plagues magical Britain today."

He glanced over at her. She was practically sitting on the edge of her seat. "Now while some did start their own communities that were under control of the Ministry of Magic, they did not have access to the same kind of spells and wards used in excess in Britain today. The portkey was only created towards the end of the 19th century, after all. Useful things, Portkeys. But when the French and Indian war ended in 1763, things began to change. England made promises and didn't keep them. Ten years later, the Colonies were on the brink of rebellion." He paused and took a sip of water. He noticed she gave the glass a curious look.

"Magicals were rarely loyalists to King George at that time Miss Granger," he explained. "Most were either from non-magical families, or had been cast out of their European families, which had been separated from 'muggle' society for nearly a century. Most were born in the colonies and never knew any other life. Also during this time, if they received any magical training at all, American magicals started adopting other traditions from native societies, especially in those close to the frontier at the time, since there was little reliable magical travel. There were no trains, no portkeys and teleportation is dangerous for the untrained. There was no American magical tradition or culture, just the colonial cultures that were starting to develop in the original thirteen."

"Aside from Massachusetts colony, which had the only true pureblood community and was rather ironically placed, all American magicals were just like any other citizen, aside from having magic," he explained. "Most were untaught, or self taught. Some passed themselves off as tricksters or experts in sleight of hand. Granted, there were some persecuted for being 'unnatural' or 'evil' but those were rare."

"But the Salem school is said to accept students from all over America," Hermione protested.

"Sure, but that doesn't mean they accept _every_ student with magic from America," the man countered. "Every single Salem student is from a bloodline relating back to the original colony. Most magical education is quite different here. No boarding schools. No magic-only curriculum. No segregation based on a ratty old piece of talking clothing. If a magical child lives too far away, the government will either supply them with tutors or magical transportation. We do not cut people off from their families like in Britain."

He looked down at her sadly.

"While I am sure that you are as smart and talented as reports claim, I'm afraid your lack of knowledge is a bit of a detriment here," the man explained. "I question that you even know how to type or search the internet with your education. What little education you did receive was no doubt quite biased or incorrect."

"I'm willing to learn," Hermione replied instantly.

"I certainly hope so," the man commented. "Otherwise we would have to send you back to Britain."

"What?" she asked, shocked, the color draining from her face.

"Miss Granger," he said calmly, "we cannot allow any more interruptions into our nation. Should you prove to be a threat, you will be dealt with. How you would be dealt with would depend on the kind of threat you pose."

"I'm still willing to learn, I have to. If I go back..."

"The United States is well aware of what would happen should Riddle's forces recapture you," the man replied. "This is why we are giving you even this much chance."

"Why haven't you done anything about the Wizarding World?"

"It is not our fight," the man replied. "We do not recognize the Wizarding World as a nation. Unless Riddle becomes an immediate problem for the United States, we have a policy of strict non-involvement in international magical affairs." He paused and let her think it over. "If you are here to drum up a rebellion against Riddle's occupation of Britain, you'll not find much support."

"I understand," Hermione agreed. "How do I begin?"

"Like all things in a bureaucracy," the man said with an evil grin, "with paperwork."


	13. What if?

A warning: This is not a happy segment. No one has a happy ending. You have been warned.

* * *

I am Uatu, the Watcher. I have watched this world for many years, viewing it in all its changes. I have seen young Harry Potter go from a shy, abused child into a father of four. However, this is not the only world. There are many worlds where Harry Potter made other choices, be it different Houses or friends. The changes are simple, but they make one ask a simple question: What if...?

In this story we look at Hermione Granger. She was hailed as the brightest witch of her generation. She was top of her class, skilled in many forms of magic. As soon as her wand was purchased, the girl "tried a few spells at home." We later learn this was an infraction of the decrees regarding underage magic. She isn't punished then, as she was quite a stickler for the rules after she had learned them.

But what if the rules applied as soon as one had their wand?

In this world, Hermione Granger tries a simple spell, _Lumos_. A wave of the wand and there's light. Moments after she does so, strangely robed men and women appear in her house. There is no preamble or discussion. The head, a pink clad woman who bears a strong resemblance to an amphibian, grabs the girl's wand and snaps it with a look of glee. The girl, her parents and the neighbors (just for good measure) are obliviated of the offense and of magic itself.

Having already agreed to go to Hogwarts, she finds herself in a bind since she apparently turned down her favored school for a school she no longer remembers agreeing to attend. Using some connections and greasing some palms, the Grangers manage to get their daughter into a special school for the gifted. She isn't the top, but well into the 80th percentile, and for the first time she has peers who hold similar interests. She doesn't have many close friends, but finishes and goes on to a career in medicine like her parents.

Things change slightly on the other side. A young boy, looking lost, meets up with a pack of redheads who show him the entrance to platform 9 3/4 where an ancient looking train waits for their presence. This young boy, the eponymous Harry Potter, makes friends with a boy with a rat, one Ronald Weasley. This time the only interruption is from a blond boy and his bookends. On the train a boy loses his toad and when no one is available to help look for Trevor, Neville Longbottom starts to wonder if someone made a mistake, if perhaps he wasn't supposed to be there at all.

Once they reach Hogwarts, the sorting begins. Hogwarts, not informed of Miss Granger's infraction, reads off her name and is disappointed that she never appeared. A certain transfiguration professor would try to look into it, but would be distracted by plans to hide a certain stone. Things are otherwise mostly unchanged. Neville, Harry and Ronald all go to Gryffindor for their own various reasons: Gran's demands, Draco's bad impression, family pride.

Harry, while at nature bright child, a son of parents gifted in charms and transfiguration, is a victim of nurture, specifically underachieving to match Ron as the Dursley's demanded of him regarding Dudley. Harry clings to his only friend like a lifeline only to find it is an anchor in Hogwarts' social sea. Soon, Harry is lumped into a group associated with the worst grades of his year.

There is little of note until Halloween. Ronald, not a polite or tactful individual, fails miserably at the levitation charm and as Hermione is not there to assist him in this, he does not send anyone crying into the bathroom. Quirrel, as yet unaffected by Hermione's lack of presence, is a bit more successful at his attempts. The troll, not called up a set of stairs by the sound of a tearful pre-teen, stays in the dungeons, lurking through the underground passageways. Professor Dumbledore orders prefects to escort all students to their dorms, forgetting, perhaps, that the Slytherin dorms reside in those selfsame dungeons. The Slytherin prefects did their duty and escorted their housemates only to encounter the troll, attracted by the sounds of excited children, at an intersection. Purebloods, though often skilled in dark magic, have one fatal flaw: they forget the physical way of doing things. Where as two first years could manage to take out a troll by dropping its club on the creature's head, the Slytherin Prefects attempted to cast spells at the creature. This would quickly prove useless, as troll hide is almost as strong as dragonhide when it comes to protection from magic. The rather dark curses only serve to anger the creature, who swings its club, slaughtering the attackers. Many Slytherins dies that day while 12 are permanently disfigured or disabled. Among those dead are Draco Malfoy, Adrian Pucey, Theodore Nott, and a nameless fifth year halfblood who never amounted to much anyway. Pansy Parkinson, already a rather pugfaced girl, now has a distinct dent in her skull and a very short short-term memory.

Meanwhile, Quirrel and Snape have a discussion about Fluffy, Hagrid's massive dog. Snape, caught by a head, is unable to prevent the possessed man by other means. Quirrel, only momentarily set back by his former minion, easily overcomes the man, disarming him and ensuring that Fluffy gets a nice big snack. The rest of the tests, as it were, were child's play. By the time he passed Snape's logic test, there was just a pedestal in the middle of a room. The Mirror of Erised was not yet available, so the final trap was not yet in place. Quirrel and Voldemort leave the obstacle course unmolested.

Little of note happens until the first quidditch match of the season. Without Snape to counter-curse him or Hermione to realize there was some cursing going on, Harry falls, face first, from his broom, his neck snapping on impact. It was then that Albus Dumbledore had the stray thought that Quirrel might have had one chance too many. Having been playing against the Slytherins, the public outcry is especially brutal, forcing the remaining Slytherins of that seventh year to remain completely blacklisted, as are anyone with a connection to that House's quidditch team. Eventually, when converting Fluffy's dung pile into fertilizer for the greenhouse, Hagrid finds some bones that he correctly identifies as humanoid. It is at this point that Dumbledore realizes where his Potions Professor vanished to.

During the rest of the school year, Quirrel keeps up his appearance as a bumbling fool scared of his own shadow, while working hard to learn all the properties of the Philosopher's Stone. Ronald Weasley, between not having someone to push him to succeed and depression from losing his friend, fails all his courses and is forced to repeat a year, putting him on par with his younger sister.

The summer is unchanged except for a letter to 4 Privet Drive detailing the incident of their nephew's death. Petunia has a momentary laps into nostalgia and sheds a tear, but no other mention of it is made in a remorseful light. All other comments about Harry Potter involve ridicule for having died, forcing Petunia to cook all year. When neighbors inquire as to what happened, his aunt and uncle recount how their "criminally insane" nephew was killed in a gang fight in a bar. No one seems to question that an eleven-year-old was in a gangfight or in a bar, but considering Dudley's friends' behavior, it could be quite understandable.

At the end of that summer, Lucius Malfoy, angered at having lost his heir, plants a diary in Ginny Weasley's books. While this is not any different than the other universe, this time there is no one to be there when she paints messages on the wall, no one to investigate later on. Colin Creevy, disappointed to discover that the boy he had held a strong hero-worship for was dead the previous year, did not bring his camera with him everywhere, and so died instead of being petrified. Hagrid is taken to Azkaban and isn't removed even when deaths follow his incarceration. Hagrid, partially protected by his heritage, spends nearly 40 years around the dementors before finally succumbing.

Ginny Weasley's body remains in the Chamber forever. There is no last minute save. There was no one to identify that the creature was, in fact, a basilisk. Ron, frantic to save his sister, is obliviated by Lockhart, however this time it is successful. However, since her identity was never uncovered, Arthur Weasley's bill is not repealed and Lucius Malfoy essentially threw away something rather precious to his Master which would have some serious implications in the future. Ronald Weasley fails his classes for a second time, this time due to his depression over his sister's disappearance.

Albus Dumbledore is removed from Hogwarts and Minerva McGonagall is placed as Headmistress. Dumbledore is no longer in the spotlight, but now spends all his time seeking out Quirrel and Voldemort. It becomes an obsession. He ceases to eat well and more frequently forgets to bathe. Without the reveal of the Diary, there is no clue to what Voldemort had done to extend his life, sending Albus Dumbledore off in a wrong direction. It isn't long before his brother kicks him out and Albus needs to find a place on his own.

That next summer two important events take place. First, Sirius Black learns of a certain rat in Hogwarts and escapes to find him. His trip to Privet Drive is unfruitful, but he was not informed of Harry Potter's death and he wasn't about to walk up to the front door to find out. The second event was Tom Marvolo Riddle finally unlocking the secrets of the Philosopher's Stone and restoring his body.

With Harry Potter dead, Remus Lupin has no reason to teach, and so does not, staying far away from the events regarding his former friends.

Sirius Black invades Hogwarts, nearly catches the rat before being chased off by Ronald Weasley's screams. He tries again later in the year but is caught and given the Dementor's Kiss without even knowing his godson was dead. There was no last minute reveal of the truth and no last minute Time-Turner use to save him. Buckbeak lives to a ripe old age with great-great-grandchildren fluttering about.

With Harry Potter dead, and Voldemort already restored, Cedric Diggory wins the Tri-Wizard Tournament. He goes on to play for Puddlemere. The lack of deaths is incorrectly assumed to be McGonagall's fault, further darkening Dumbledore's reputation.

Without a warning from Harry Potter, there is no reason for Fudge to force his minion into Hogwarts. The year passes without incident, save for Ronald Weasley earning two OWLs.

Six years, almost to the day, of Hermione Granger's spell experiment, Death Eater attacks resume. The government, thoroughly infested with Voldemort's minions and imperioed thralls, is quite ineffective in combating the issue. Dumbledore reforms the Order of the Phoenix, but his loss of reputation calls very few to his side.

Little do most people know, but there are two individuals calling themselves Voldemort, one via Stone and one via Diary. These are not, precisely, on the same side. In fact, though they are drawing from the same pool of human resources, their goals are the same, though not in conjunction. They start fighting amongst themselves. Voldemort the Elder tends to draw from the old guard, while Voldemort the Younger tends to draw from the disenfranchised youth. The battles are Parent against Child, Uncle against Niece, Aunt against Nephew, and Death Eater against muggleborn.

Fudge, while not a Death Eater and not imperioed, is suitably manipulated by Lucius Malfoy into doing whatever the elder Voldemort wants. The Order is destroyed minus Dumbledore and a few non-combatants. The corrupt Ministry sends Nymphadora Tonks and Kingsley Shacklebolt to Azkaban for their participation in unlawful militias. Due to the constant battles and shrinking pool to draw minions from, Voldemort the Younger, not yet caught up in his "pure-blood" personae, starts drawing in Muggleborns who are starting to feel the squeeze. His numbers grow exponentially.

Eventually, after five years, Hogwarts falls. It is not a battle or some such, but a very subtle poisoning of key individuals and replacement by specifically chosen individuals. The rolls of students are released to the elder Voldemort's minions. Muggleborn families are exterminated one by one in revels that no sane person could ever be a part of.

Hermione Granger is at home when the attack happened. Her name, crossed off, but not erased from the Hogwarts rolls, was listed with an address clearly labeled for any individual to read. Neither she, nor her parents, are aware of the events taking place in the world she was almost a part of. The Obliviators were quite thorough. The attack is interrupted not by the Ministry, not by the Order, but by Voldemort the Younger's forces looking for revenge against Voldemort the Elder. The Obliviators return, doing nothing to repair the damage, only hide the evidence. Hermione Granger survives with a comatose mother, a crippled father and an unwanted pregnancy. Other than horrendous nightmares that will wake her up year after year, she has no clue as to how this happened. Medical experts are baffled.

Twelve years after Hermione Granger's magical experiment, the muggle side is clued in to the groups who were causing so many deaths. Anyone bearing a wand is labeled a terrorist and many Obliviators die when they apparate in to "fix" magical battle sites. The Leaky Cauldron is first, surveillance having revealed it to be a central location to a number of London attacks. As far as the muggle forces are concerned, this unassuming storefront is actually a terrorist cell. It is bombed. This destroys one of the Diagon Alley ward stones, dropping the muggle repelling and illusion wards over the magical shopping center. Soldiers go in. Anyone pointing a wand is considered hostile. The children recovered are taken to undisclosed locations for deprogramming and re-education into standard British society. For the most part, these children will never amount to much as they are already too old to catch up with true British education. They don't blend in with their peers. They are mocked for their outsider nature. The pureblooded children do not appreciate the irony.

With information about the magical world now available, Her Majesty's Government makes moves to clear out as much as possible. The Floo, now under muggle control, is instrumental in the take down of "magical terrorist cells." Wizards and witches, those few taken alive, break easily under muggle interrogation techniques and reveal every magical community in Britain. Those fall within weeks; adults taken to prisons, and children to re-education centers in undisclosed locations.

Voldemort the Elder frequently makes attacks against muggles, but now faces professional soldiers. His followers die almost to the man. Voldemort the Younger is wiser about the muggle world, though his information is fifty years out of date, and goes into hiding with his followers, becoming an underground organized crime syndicate.

Voldemort the Elder takes a sniper bullet to the brain pan. He is able to stay around as a shade, but he is less and less able to find supporters willing to help him regain his body. In the next five years, he is killed, each time by muggles, and resurrected five times, each time by some idiot with a want who wants to "bring back the old days." During these five years he loses more and more minions until new ones just aren't showing up and the old ones only stay because they fear the muggles more.

Albus Dumbledore is now unrecognizable. He is unwashed, his clothes tattered and worn and his mind batty. An inspector sees him lurking outside 4 Privet Drive one night. The old man is taken in to the station and eventually taken to a home as he can clearly no longer take care of himself.

Certain individuals are taken by the government and instructed to assist or be detained. Arthur Weasley is one such individual. Still having his wife, six children, four daughters-in-law and two infant grandchildren, he complies for his family's sake. His assistance is instrumental in the downfall of Hogwarts. He never forgives himself.

Twenty years after Hermione Granger's magical experiment, there is no Ministry of Magic; there is no Diagon Alley; there is no Hogsmeade; there is no Hogwarts. Wizards and witches are taught in standard schools set up by the muggle British government, weeded out for ability. Blood and ancestry mean nothing. Wands are still made by Ollivander, but are only given to those who Her Majesty's government decides are worthy based on grades and personality profiles. Merit is the order of the day.

Twenty years after Hermione Granger's magical experiment, no one remembers Harry Potter, Albus Dumbledore or Voldemort as anything more than legends. The evidence is gone, no records remain. They are myths, urban legends told over campfires.

I have seen this world as I have seen many others. It is different, very much so. A simple change causes everything to be different. A drop of water, a butterfly flapping its wings. A simple question of "What if...?"

* * *

_I don't own Uatu, Marvel does._


End file.
